


We've Already Met

by sinisterbug



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Dickmatized Geralt, Geralt of Rivia is sexually repressed, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Power Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Rimming, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Taboo, moronsexuals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23440690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinisterbug/pseuds/sinisterbug
Summary: What can I add to this fandom? Ah yes, struggles with sexual repression and daddy issues.OR: Toss A Coin To Your DaddyJaskier already met Vesemir 6 months before meeting Geralt, and they begin a casual sexual relationship based on mutual attraction and desire. Jaskier keeps this affair quiet as he goes on to make the acquaintance of Geralt and begins to travel with him.  It becomes clear to Jaskier, after a few years, just who exactly Vesemir is to Geralt. Based on this, Jaskier keeps the secret that much closer for fear of angering Geralt. The bard is fine to balance the occasional tryst with Vesemir when they cross paths and never, ever mention it to Geralt.So it all goes to crap the day that Geralt invites Jaskier to Kaer Morhen for the winter.Will feature: Hotel de Kaer Morhen and their fabled hot springs, daddy kinks just scattered EVERYWHERE, jealousy, pining, misunderstandings, romance, sword fights, true love - well, true fun anyway.Characters and pairings may be added because you've boarded The Seat of Your Pants Airlines. Hold on to your butts.** "Dickmatized" tag credit to AO3 user Gara_x!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Vesemir, Jaskier | Dandelion/Vesemir, eventual Geralt/Jaskier - Relationship
Comments: 213
Kudos: 601
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	1. Oh dear.

**Author's Note:**

> Presenting this first bit of writing to see if there is an audience for this. Feedback does a pretty good job stimulating particular neurons in my brain that make me feel pleasant.
> 
> No beta and based on the Netflix series, sorry for any mistakes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier makes the acquaintance of Geralt's mentor and father figure, Vesemir, 6 months before the Witcher and the bard meet in Posada. Jaskier finds out a little too late he's been fishing trout out of a very familiar and beloved stream, dare he say _sacred_ stream, and doesn't have the sense to knock it the fuck off.
> 
> 10 years later, Geralt invites him to Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier hadn’t told Geralt about meeting Vesemir six months before Posada. Something in his gut told him that while joking about bread in his pants might fly, or at least not get him a beating, bragging about fucking other Witchers probably would result in his very pretty face getting bloodied. This turned out to be a very smart move on Jaskier’s part, he just didn't know it yet.

In 10 years of traveling together, the two had never crossed another Witcher’s path while in each other’s company. The bard had undeniably been paranoid for the first few months, before Geralt explained that they had methods for avoiding each other on the Path. Then a little over two years after their first adventure in Dol Blathanna, Jaskier was further reassured, briefly, when the Witcher clarified that he only ever saw Vesemir in Kaer Morhen these days. That reassurance turned to horror and a sunken weight of dread in his gut as Geralt went on to share that he was the man that raised the White Wolf and made him everything he was. The closest thing he’d ever had to a father. During that night of drunken oversharing, the bard was grateful for how deep in his cups Geralt must have been, for he made no indication that he'd noticed Jaskier's elevated heartbeat as he explained exactly who Vesemir _really_ was.

The older man had mentioned in passing the names of a few of his fellow Witchers over the two short summer seasons they'd spent in each other's company thus far - Geralt's to be sure, given the popularity of the song and Jaskier's connection to him. But true to Geralt’s description of his mentor, the older Witcher's love was not soft or sweet, which was why Jaskier could not possibly infer just from Vesemir’s brief description of his wards how profoundly tied he was to Geralt. To all of them.

That Jaskier made it a habit to visit Skellige once a year if circumstances allowed in hopes of seeing Vesemir was also not something the bard had ever told the Witcher _explicitly_. Jaskier knew he’d mentioned the somewhat annual pilgrimage to Skellige, but he also knew Geralt was barely listening when he did, so he hadn’t needed to provide copious details as to why he consistently returned there. Vesemir had only rendezvoused with him a handful of times since the very first run in, despite the bard being there almost every year. To say he was disappointed (and slightly worried, of course he was) whenever Vesemir failed to show was certainly an understatement, but as he got older and as his life filled out with more exciting adventures and connections and loves and heartaches, he’d learned to bear it with more maturity and resignation. He also knew it was dangerous for a Witcher to reliably return to the same place every summer. And Vesemir must usually have better things to be doing. Certainly meeting and parting with Geralt for various frames of times and with varying degrees of abruptness had helped Jaskier understand how little to expect of a Witcher’s sense of commitment to things outside the Path.

All this to say, Jaskier sort of did a combination gagging _and_ coughing mid-hum when suddenly Geralt turned to him with earnest, golden eyes that reflected the campfire light and grunted, “Come with me to Kaer Morhen this season.”

***

All those months ago around the campfire, it had taken Jaskier several embarrassing moments to remember that it was the mid-spring, and he had most of the year to beg off, come up with some sort of plausible excuse for not going to Kaer Morhen. At first he simply agreed - the yearning look in Geralt’s face (which was barely detectable by your average human, but Jaskier had spent 10 years learning These Things) was too much to resist. For Jaskier anyway. So they’d made tentative plans to connect in Cidaris on the cusp of winter the coming season.

He almost panicked, too, when two months later it seemed as though Geralt might follow him to Skellige. It was an unsettling turn of events to be the one trying to shake Geralt, instead of the other way around. But in the end, Geralt was lured away with contracts and the Path, and Jaskier was free to make his way to the islands for a midsummer rendezvous disguised as making his rounds at the summer festivals. He did truly panic when, during the first week, there was no sign of Vesemir. Normally, Jaskier would already be off, distracting himself with a conquest, or song writing, or competition. He no longer sulked for a week - he sulked about half a day then picked himself up and made the best out of being there. But this time he paced the floor of the inn, wandered the towns anxiously, spoke with their mutual contacts for information, and wrote various letters to Vesemir that could never be sent. He simply could _not_ show up there without some damn warning. He wanted a plan, a script, a well-built lie shored up with plenty of defenses should Geralt even get a whiff of too much familiarity between his father figure and his… friend?

Jaskier was sure that if faced with the truth of the nature of his connection to Vesemir, Geralt might strangle him or worse. Perhaps just for the lie. But he had listened intently to the few words Geralt had spoken of it. Of how important Vesemir was to Geralt. How uncorrupted and pure that association was to him. It wasn’t besmirched like his memory of his mother, or Renfri, or anything else. It seemed, to Jaskier, to be Geralt’s most wholesome connection in this world, aside from an unclaimed Child Surprise.

Logically, Jaskier knew Geralt was as far from a child as could be. He must surely understand that just like himself and his brothers, Vesemir was a man with urges. He just doubted significantly that Geralt would be so understanding that Jaskier was someone who tended to those urges from times to time. Or that _his_ urges were occasionally tended to by Vesemir.

And if his friend found out he liked Geralt’s father figure to belt him and grab his hair and choke him and use his body to warm his fantastic cock…

Or, worse, that he'd long wished Geralt would tend to those urges, too...

He had to talk to Vesemir. If the Witcher didn't show up in the next month, Jaskier would simply... have to... break his legs accidentally falling off a cliff. Or something.

***

Vesemir did show up after a fortnight. The familiar wry grin had begun to set on his face after spotting the bard sitting in the corner of their preferred tavern, when he must have noticed some distress on that bard’s face.

Crossing the room, he muttered, “What now?” Jaskier grimaced and motioned for the older man to sit first. He waved for Tilly to bring an ale and he began to fidget, crossing his arms over his chest while simultaneously stretching his long legs and readjusting in his seat.

Vesemir sat and observed Jaskier before he whistled low and shook his head. In that gravely voice that was just as pleasant as Geralt’s but altogether _different_ , he growled, “What’s got your sack twisted, boy?”

_Boy_. Jaskier tried not to let that travel all the way down his spine and he let out a shivery breath that he directed toward the bangs frustratingly obscuring his vision. Then he laughed nervously, which sounded alarmingly close to hysterical, before he cleared his throat and sat up. Tilly placed an ale before Vesemir, who nodded, and he received a sweet smile from her in return before she was off again.

“I’m to meet Geralt in Cidaris at mid-Saovine to accompany him to... Kaer Morhen. For the winter.” Jaskier finally met his companion's gaze.

If Vesemir felt anything in response to this news, he did not show it. This, of course, only served to exasperate the poor bard, who had been sitting on pins and needles for months now - since Geralt extended the invitation. After a few more minutes of Jaskier working himself up internally while the Witcher across from him drank, Vesemir set down his ale with a sigh and rubbed his beard. Then, with some contemplation in his voice, he said, “I've been meaning to fuck you in the hot springs. Wasn’t sure when I’d get the chance.”

“How in the hell do you intend to handle Geralt?” Jaskier hissed, absolutely betrayed by the color in his cheeks and the sudden need to cross his legs.

“Anything except the truth will be obvious to him immediately.”

Jaskier closed his eyes and clenched his jaw painfully and tried to breathe evenly. Breaking his legs it is, then.

“If you don’t show up then I’ll know you’ve found a way to crawl out of it-”

Jaskier’s wince was just the twitch of one closed eye, but it betrayed the yawning hole of self loathing at the idea that he would cowardly back out of Geralt’s heartfelt invitation, even if he broke his legs to do it.

Vesemir continued, “If you show up and want to only be acquaintances, fine. If it’s the usual, even better. Either way, if you’ve really kept your secret this whole time and he’s never managed to _smell_ me on you, I can see Geralt... reacting. Strongly. But you’ll have me all winter if he decides to be a shit.”

Jaskier took a final deep calming breath and opened his eyes. Vesemir was observing him again - it was rare to catch the man in repose, and he hadn’t had the same amount of time to learn as he’d had with Geralt. But he liked to think he saw something close to fondness in them. Or at least lust.

Regardless of what might happen come winter, Jaskier was there now with Vesemir, and the familiar excitement and yearning was quickly taking all that pent up anxiety and panic and turning it into arousal. The bard tried to smile sweetly after finishing his ale but with licking his lips he was sure it must appear something feral. “I’m not quite convinced yet, I've been terribly distraught waiting for you to get here. But I’m sure some strong, firm, reassurance from you upstairs, right now, will go a long way. Come on. I’ve been needing you.”

He grabbed Vesemir's ale (which could only happen if the Witcher let him) and a thick, leather covered forearm, and pulled him towards the stairs that led to their room.

From the bar, Tilly shook her head and smiled and told the bard she'd pay her extra if she could play as loud as possible for the rest of the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is everyone doing? How are you spending your time in self isolation? I'm installing a garden and writing/living/breathing/being trash. You don't even have to tell me if you like the story please someone just socialize with meeeeee.


	2. Well, you see-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier's attempt to create a cover plan quickly turns into kink negotiations. Those quickly go down hill, too, but it's still a lot of fun for the bard. Our boys reunite in Cidaris before leaving for Kaer Morhen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE SEE UPDATED TAGS BEFORE PROCEEDING

“No- ah, yes yes yes yesssss,” Jaskier started to say but it trailed off into encouragement for more. He was desperately trying to maintain his train of thought and quickly realized how foolish it was - attempting to negotiate kinks for a future time and place while Vesemir’s strong, rough fingers were buried in his ass.

Those fingers suddenly spread and so did Jaskier’s legs. His head fell back and his eyes rolled as far as they could and he was gasping and grasping at sheets.

“ ”No” _what_?” Vesemir sneered, three thick fingers thrusting for now. “You’re gonna tell me to fuck you so quietly my _best Witcher_ can’t hear?” He chuckled and Jaskier could feel the hot puffs of air on his chest and he clenched tightly around the digits, not missing the barefaced pride in Vesemir’s voice when describing their mutual acquaintance. It made his spine melt.

“Nnngh gods no I just AH-”

Vesemir captured a peaked nipple between his teeth, firmly tonguing the trapped bit of flesh relentlessly.

“Yes!” The bard cried. Vesemir sucked hard, his fingers continuing their steady stroking pace below, his other hand holding the bard’s hip tightly in place. “YES YES!”

The old Witcher exhaled and smirked, moving to the other side to make Jaskier writhe some more.

“Ah ah ah I just ah Vesemir _please_ , you must ah aaaah know I can’t- oh please oh please I won’t talk about him in bed while we’re there aaah!”

Now Vesemir was sitting back and adding a fourth finger and Jaskier was singing his pleasure loudly now.

“GODS Vesemir please fuck me please sir please-”

“Shame,” Vesemir said blandly, calm in the face of Jaskier’s desperation, unfailing in stroking the bard’s tight, slick passage. “I’d been wanting to hear you scream my boy’s name while the stone carried your slutty echoes through the entire keep.”

The next slide in with those perfect fingers included a firm stroke to Jaskier’s prostate, and the bard’s entire body clenched. Three long pulses from his cock and his orgasm crashed over him, pleasure rolling to the bottom of his toes to the top of his head, seeming to go on for eternity then ending before he knew it. His torso and chin were wet with his own seed and Vesemir hadn’t even touched his cock.

“Looks like you’d like that, too,” Vesemir growled, relishing how perfectly ruined Jaskier looked in this moment beneath him, naked and sweating and breathless. The Witcher’s fingers were still buried deep inside him, the bard’s nipples red and shining from too much attention and splattered with cum.

“Fine,” Vesemir removed his fingers, undid his laces and pulled out his thick cock. He grabbed the bottle from the table beside the bed and slicked himself. Jaskier heard every noise and could visualize the gruff movements, though he hadn’t deigned to open his eyes yet. He couldn’t help it - just the sounds of the older Witcher prepping to fuck him fully clothed had his cock twitching again and his legs spreading further open. “That’s it, boy. I’ll agree to what you want and you’ll be very, very good for me, won’t you? Make it up to me now for when I have to hold back while I’m fucking you later-”

The bard’s eyes flew open and the older man let out a groan that sounded like a mountain face crumbling. Speech stopped and the only sounds that remained were the wet slide of the Witcher’s cock into the bard’s ass, Vesemir’s grunts, and Jaskier’s whining gasps. More sounds came next - the slapping of damp skin, cries, demands, and pleas for more.

“Couldn’t have Geralt finding out what a dirty slut you are for him and his old man,” Vesemir taunted, interrupting his thrusting to snatch the hands that had been pulling and pushing at his chest to remove his leather and tunic. He pinned them above the younger man’s head with a hard look. “They don’t move, boy, until I say.”

Jaskier let out a very lewd moan if he did say so himself, followed by a breathy “Yes sir!” He was so blessedly _full_ as Vesemir’s cock shifted inside him. He swallowed hard against his desire to disobey in favor of at least being able to see Vesemir’s naked chest. The Witcher was older and more worn by time and the Path than Geralt. But that did not mean that Vesemir had not obviously been devastatingly handsome in his time - _still was_ in Jaskier’s Very Important Opinion. And besides, these were roughly hewn muscles and scars and hair and skin he was _allowed_ to touch, even if that wasn’t Vesemir’s particular plan right now.

The other man sat up enough to quickly divest himself of his leather and tunic. It was just a brief moment before he was looming over Jaskier again, but the sight of that hard stomach covered in thick, white hair being revealed had the bard moaning and clenching his channel, as his already stiffening cock and tight balls ached with arousal. Vesemir’s hand went quickly to Jaskier’s hips with a bruising force as he kicked his hips forward a couple times and held him down. They’d only manage to spend two very short days together last season and it had been too long since Jaskier had been properly fucked for a month straight.

Jaskier wanted to wrap his legs around the Witcher but was prevented from doing so by Vesemir suddenly grabbing the bard’s ankles and bringing them to his ears.

“Been too long, sweet bird,” Vesemir said roughly, “Gonna make you scream tonight.”

And then the fucking began in earnest, and all thoughts of actual conversation fled his mind.

***

“Stop being so desperate. It’s not the end of your life.”

Several hours later, Jaskier glared at Vesemir from his perch on his lap with all the heat of a kitten who'd had it’s bowl of milk confiscated. “It very well may be, _actually_ , but if not, then it is likely to be the end of my association with Geralt and Witchers in general so I’m damn well going to enjoy this next week and wring every ounce of fucking from you that I very well can, alright? Maybe we get to fuck in your keep and maybe we don’t so give me something to remember in any case.”

Vesemir’s eyes glinted dangerously, but instead of rousing the beast, the Witcher seemed to be trying to employ some patience.

“Let’s get some things straight in that empty, pretty head of yours.” Vesemir manhandled Jaskier flush against him, wrapping those gorgeous legs around his thick trunk of a waist, putting their foreheads together with surprising gentleness. This had Jaskier swallowing back the snark he had prepared for the “empty head” comment. Peering intently into the bard’s eyes, Vesemir stated simply, “We are done when one or both of us says we are done, _not_ because some snot nosed brat of mine complains daddy spends too much time with his bard. Is that clear?”

Jaskier’s adam’s apple bobbed and he nodded, whispering “yes sir”. He was getting hard again. Damn it. They really needed to get through this conversation before Vesemir had to return to the Path.

“Lastly, Jaskier, because I’m done discussing this now - no matter how hard I tried to train it out of him, the fool still _feels_. After he roars and breaks a few pieces of my furniture, he’ll get over it. Now stop being a spoiled little shit and settle down for me. I want to touch you until I’ve had my fill.”

The unspoken (rather than the spoken) words settled something in Jaskier. Geralt may get angry and forsake him for a time, but Vesemir would not. He would have a place in the older Witcher’s life heedless of his friend’s reaction, and a place at Kaer Morhen for the winter with no risk of being tossed in the cold on his ass if he pissed someone off.

Likely the White Wolf would indeed be angry for a time - perhaps years. Jaskier prayed that Vesemir, who had spent more years with the White Wolf than anyone, was right - Geralt just... _had_ to get over it.

It sounded flimsy even to himself.

***

By the time Jaskier found himself making his way to the tavern in Cidaris a fortnight into Saovine, he was furious with himself. He was convinced he’d allowed several long, intense, otherwordly fucking sessions over the summer to lure him into a false sense of security that had come crashing down approximately three days ago. He only kept from muttering to himself about the predicament because, who knew where Geralt was? He could be stalking Jaskier on his way into town, in which case he’d hear every breath the bard muttered. And wasn’t _that_ a thought. He wished Geralt would stalk him properly (well, properly as in _bed sport_ , which was the only proper stalking according to Jaskier), instead of just making sure he didn’t also drag trouble with him.

He could also be waiting for him in the tavern already, and the bard did not know, nor did he desire, to test the hearing radius of the best Witcher in existence. But as he entered the town, he had to admit that the desire to get out of the bone-chilling drizzle helped reduce his fear of seeing Geralt and proceeding to Kaer Morhen. He had cheered himself from time to time with the thought that Geralt himself would change his mind and simply not show up. That was still an option he was holding out for.

Until he opened the tavern door, stepped quickly inside, and right into a tall, black armored, solid body, complete with white hair and yellow eyes.

“Hmm,” Geralt said and steadied his ale from the impact.

“What on earth are you doing standing _right_ by the door you big brute?” Jaskier snapped as he tried to compose himself and come down from the utter fright of not just bumping into someone unexpectedly, but that person being Geralt.

Geralt didn’t answer. He just made a small motion in his face that was too quick for the distracted bard to catch, and started walking away. Jaskier sighed, exasperation already in full force and it hadn’t been three seconds, but he followed him to a table in the corner anyway.

An ale from the barmaid, an order for another plate, and soon Jaskier was grateful to be there and feeling a little steadier than he had in the last three days.

Geralt took the third deep breath in as many minutes as Jaskier tucked into his plate. The younger man watched between bites as the Witcher scanned the room and their booth and Jaskier before taking another drink and looking just off to the right of the table toward the floor, as if trying to discern something.

“Whaw is wlong wif you?” Jaskier swallowed too much at once and grabbed for his ale to wash it down, groaning at the unpleasant stretch in his esophagus. “Bluh, slow down Jaskier old boy, it’s not going anywhere,” he chided himself, wiping his mouth. He heard Geralt snort but he didn’t see it as he quickly took a quick slurp of the stew. “Anyway, what is it? Some beastie in here to get us? See someone you don’t like?”

“It’s nothing.”

***

They stayed for 2 days - enough time to outfit Jaskier properly for the trek.

He’d batted his eyes, professed his undying commitment to Geralt’s cause and reminded him of all the years spent in his service thus far, promised to keep Geralt stocked on his favorite, painstakingly concocted, very expensive oils that _only_ Jaskier knew how to make all year round, all in the hopes of securing a horse for the journey. The bard hollered and whinged and stamped his foot so many times, until the morning before their departure.

Geralt, seemingly having had enough, turned sharply in place and _loomed_ over him in the middle of the marketplace.

The sound of an old man chuckling broke their brief show down and a skinny man with sun chapped skin and a bald head led a sturdy looking mule out to Geralt. They had stopped in front of the horse dealer. The Witcher finally turned away from Jaskier to take his new purchase and pay the man. He led her back to the bard and said, “This is Lolly. Rinwalde keeps her through the other seasons of the year and the years we don’t need her. She knows the path as well as any Witcher. You could sleep on her back and- hmm, you’d fall to your death. But Lolly would make it to Kaer Morhen.”

Geralt sincerely looked as though he thought this should comfort his friend. Jaskier wordlessly took the reins as the Witcher made a turn for the stables. The bard sighed and reached out to scratch Lolly on the head and introduce himself.

“Hmm-” Geralt stopped and turned to add, “Don’t scratch her head-”

Jaskier cried out as the mule suddenly nabbed a bit of skin on his forearm between her teeth and bit down _hard_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard right into smut folks, sorry about the turbulence. So tags - I've seen "pseudo incest" tags before. Are we thinking Vesemir/Geralt qualifies for that? I don't want anyone to be squicked by my kink. I think the pairing tags listed should somewhat speak for itself but I'm curious for anyone else's thoughts.


	3. You- but you-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After maintaining a break-neck pace, Geralt and Jaskier take shelter in a cabin Geralt is familiar with. Unfortunately, or fortunately, the cabin is occupied upon their arrival. Jaskier deals with yet another person becoming involved in his secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who wants 4,200 words? I got 4,200 words right here, who wants 'em? These bad boys can give you approximately 10 whole minutes of reading - who is ready for this???

After about a month of following the Pontar River at what Jaskier considered a grueling pace (avoiding civilization for the most part and only taking contracts if they came upon them), Geralt seemed in usual spirits - taciturn and gruff, with the occasional bout of moodiness. Still bone achingly handsome, despite his very ugly insistence that they avoid inns unless absolutely necessary.

Jaskier argued they should keep themselves in comfort as long as possible - chiefly so that he could make them coin and further spread the tale of the White Wolf and practice a few of the new songs he’d composed since summer. But also because eventually, he knew and dreaded, that they would be _forced_ to endure the harsh wilderness as they neared their destination.

Geralt argued that it would take more time, pushing them further into the winter season during their travel, which the bard would most definitely not appreciate, nor perhaps, _survive_. To which Jaskier sniped that they should have met earlier in the season to begin this journey if that was the case. Likely they would bicker over this the entire way, until they _did_ reach the vast wilderness of Kaedwen, at which point Jaskier’s arguments would become Jaskier’s laments, to which Geralt’s responses would become increasingly indifferent.

Despite the cold bite in the air and even colder bite in the water, Jaskier had finally informed Geralt they needed to find a stream and clean up. Geralt made a face like he’d smelled something rotten and Jaskier jumped on the chance.

“Yes! Yes, _that_ exactly! I can’t take it anymore, Geralt!” he cried from Lolly’s sturdy, smelly back, pointing at Geralt’s expression. “I can’t believe I’m _begging_ to stop and bathe in the icy waters of a likely drowner-filled-river but you cannot expect me to carry on like this. It’s bad for a normal human’s hygiene - I could get sick and let me tell you I do, everyday, just smelling myself-”

“Enough, we’ll make for a river,” he’d said resentfully. They’d left Murivel two days prior - or the area around it anyway - not ever having really entered the town. Geralt had left camp in the wee hours of the morning, leaving Jaskier behind, defenseless except for Roach and Lolly, and without the usual body heat of the Witcher’s large back to keep the bard warm. He’d caught the white haired man returning just as he begrudgingly opened his eyes to seek him out. Geralt gruffly informed his traveling companion that there were no contracts, and that they needed to keep moving.

The whining about missing the chance for a hot bath had begun then, but apparently Geralt was slow on the uptake.

By late noon they had reached a stream fed by the snowy tops of the Kestrel Mountains. As they approached, Jaskier distracted himself from imagining the frigid waters by wondering what dark paths the stream must have carved through the old forest before emerging from the trees out into open skies.

To his surprise, Geralt made a turn directly north, toward the forest, once they got within a stone’s throw.

“Where are you going? If we travel for much longer the temperature will only keep dropping!”

“Hmm.”

“Geralt - again, the point of this is for this _normal_ human to complete his necessary grooming to keep from developing nasty skin conditions. A very bad skin, or entire _body_ condition, as it were, is hypothermia- Geralt will you listen?”

Geralt did not stop or offer further explanation. Part of Jaskier wondered if this was Geralt’s way of changing his mind and telling the bard to fuck off back to civilization. Jaskier sighed and stroked Lolly’s neck, who tried to bite him for it but kept her gait unbroken, dutifully following Roach.

“Yes, yes. I know. No one likes me. Me and my need for a bath. Me and my need for a warm place to sleep,” he grumbled. Then, hollering ahead to Geralt, he said, “You shouldn’t act as though I’ve begged you to take me there. I knew without all your dire warnings how hard this would be, but YOU were the one who ASSURED ME SAFE PASSAGE YOU BIG… YOU BIG DONKEY!”

Lolly brayed, and Jaskier liked to think she was agreeing with him.

***

Eventually, when Geralt instructed Jaskier to wait at the edge of the forest with their mounts, he offered, “There’s a cabin here, hidden. The stream is near enough to it. Stay here while I make sure it’s empty. Try not to get into any trouble. Take the large bags off of Roach and Lolly and let them graze.”

Jaskier muttered about how if he were left alone a little less often, trouble wouldn’t come looking for him (a lie). He failed to summon a cheery mood while he waited, not even wanting to pass the time composing or plucking idly on his lute. He stood between the mounts, trying to keep the chill from settling in. He supposed it would be fortunate, should said cabin be empty, to be able to bathe in the stream then return to a roof over his head and a warm fire for the night.

After the sun had fallen in the sky considerably, Geralt finally returned. The bard couldn’t see any obvious signs of a fight on the other man, but neither did the Witcher look happy. In fact, he seemed extraordinarily _pissed_.

“Geralt, what-”

“Let’s move. I can hear a wolf pack not far.”

“Is the cabin- oh, right, okay, following…”

Together they quickly loaded the mounts and made their way into the forest.

On the way, Jaskier could not fail to notice that the Witcher kept starting, then stopping, to say something. Finally, Roach came to a halt and Geralt started speaking.

“Someone was in the cabin when I got there.”

“Oh…” Jaskier brought Lolly up beside Roach. “So is this just a new route through the forest or-”

“Someone I know. Another Witcher,” Geralt narrowed his eyes at the bard.

Jaskier’s heart went from his chest to his anus. Vesemir couldn’t possibly be holed up in the one cabin they just happened to come across-

“His name is Eskel,” the white haired man continued, and the accusing expression passed. Jaskier must have been imagining it. “We’ll share the cabin for the night. Lucky for you it looks like you won’t have to die of hypothermia in the stream.”

Jaskier’s soul re-entered his body, and he tried not to let it show that he was recovering from a massive shock, but Geralt had other ways of knowing. It was already obvious on the Witcher’s face that he could perceive the bard’s discomfort. His pulse had spiked significantly, he knew, and he must reek of fear.

Fortunately for Jaskier, Geralt seemed to have misread the nature of his fear. He sighed a very heavy sigh and closed his golden eyes, as if gently exasperated. “No one is going to hurt you as long as I am with you. Might as well get used to other Witchers before we get to the Keep. You’re just lucky it was him and not Lambert.”

Jaskier bit back his relieved chuckle of agreement. True, Vesemir didn’t speak much of his Witchers, but he’d always referred to _that_ particular Witcher as, “That asshole Lambert”. For Geralt to be Vesemir’s favorite, and Lambert to be an asshole, Jaskier assumed Lambert had to be on a whole other level of socially dysfunctional and rude (if Geralt was any measure).

As it was, he’d only heard that Geralt and Eskel were more so like brothers than any of the other Witchers. And that Eskel had a talent for magic. He wondered briefly what kind of magic. Mind reading magic? Feeling reading magic? Know-who-you’ve-fucked magic? Suddenly his feeling of relief was gone.

***

He had to admit, despite all of his anxiety and fear about the trip and Vesemir and whether or not his friendship with Geralt would survive, Jaskier was struck dumb momentarily by how utterly lovely the cabin was, and every other bad thing fled his mind. It was no summer cottage in Toussaint, but it reminded him of something out of a fairy tale nevertheless. In fact, at this early stage of winter, he was unsure of how it was still covered in beautiful ivy and gorgeous purple and white clematis, nor why the flora filling the clearing surrounding the cabin was so bright with spring color. Smoke rose invitingly from the chimney. He was already composing the ballad of “The Enchanted Cabin of the Kestrel Forest” in his head, forgetting that an unfamiliar Witcher awaited them inside, and that perhaps this Witcher knew more about Jaskier than the bard would like.

Geralt observed Jaskier in his awe for a moment then snorted, as if amused by his friend’s wonder. This broke the blue eyed man from his reverie and he, too, dismounted. Geralt instructed Jaskier to relieve Lolly of her burdens then leave her care to him. Unusual, but the bard didn’t argue and grabbed his lute, pack, and bedroll after unloading and unsaddling Lolly, then waited at the front door of the cabin for Geralt to finish and go in first.

Soon enough Geralt noticed him there, waiting for him. He raised a white eyebrow at the bard.

“What? I don’t know this man, Geralt-”

“Well he knows of _you_ , I assume thanks to your songs. I _thought_ you had a precious bath to take. I vouch for my brother, Jaskier. Go inside.”

The bard gnawed on his lip for a half second, then took a deep breath and opened the door.

The first thing he noticed was the casting of warm, yellow light throughout the cabin. The next thing he noticed was that it seemed as though someone had been living here for a good amount of time, and living rather comfortably. This wasn’t the abandoned, run down shelter he was expecting. No broken windows or leaky roof or turned over furniture or cobwebs. It was quite well furnished, actually. In fact, it wouldn’t be out of line to say that a mage likely lived here, with the delicate looking equipment lining one table and the considerable apothecary ingredients filling up every other available space. Not to mention the abundance of furs draped over seats and on the floor.

It smelled… very nice. Like amber and musk.

At first glance, there was no one else in the first room. Then, out of his periphery, he saw movement, and couldn’t help the flinch and very unmanly scream that followed. Thankfully he managed to hold on to his supplies.

A raspy chuckle preceded the emergence of the shadow from the corner of the room. A Witcher stepped into the light, and Jaskier’s jaw fell open. In almost identical armor and garb was a very handsome, very familiar looking man.

“You... “ Jaskier’s eyes briefly went in Geralt’s general direction, but his head was whipping back to Eskel before he could actually see the other man through the still open door. “You... Are you his _actual_ brother? He never said! He _would_ have said! But you look-”

“Like the dark version of Geralt?” Eskel, with his black hair and midnight eyes and darkly stubbled chin, grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Better come in, bard. Geralt saw the chance for some quality time with Roach. Could be a while before he’s done.”

Jaskier nodded, closing the door behind him, following Eskel further inside. Like Geralt, the tall Witcher also had to duck through thresholds.

At seeing such a familiar action, Jaskier was comforted, and a wellspring of his usual, uninhibited self seemed to break through all the anxiety. Suddenly he had too many questions to be answered.

“So are you really Geralt’s brother? And are you the one who lives here? Obviously some mage of _some_ kind has been here or lives here and-”

Thankfully, he managed to stop himself before he added, “I heard you were skilled in magic”.

“-obviously it isn’t the season for clematis and forgive me for saying so but this place is _too_ civilized to have been outfitted by a Witcher. At least, in my experience, anyway.”

Leading him to a smaller room beyond the front room, Eskel still had his back turned when he said in a low voice, “And you do have quite a bit of experience, don’t you, Jaskier?”

Jaskier came to a halt. His brain rapidly tried to provide him with some response, since he honestly didn’t know what Eskel meant. He could be teasing him about Geralt, but he could also be alluding to knowing certain other Witchers-

Eskel turned around and gave Jaskier a horribly knowing smirk that told the bard everything he dreaded to know. “A few years traveling with… _one_... You must have picked up... quite a bit.”

“As much as Geralt bothers to tell me,” he answered evenly. _Fuck me,_ Jaskier thought, _he can’t have mind reading magic! Can he?_

“You… didn’t say whether or not you were actually Geralt’s brother,” Jaskier added, trying to keep his voice steady, something he thankfully had quite a bit experience with as a bard. He didn’t know whether or not Geralt could hear his very _heartbeat_ through cabin walls and whatever distance he’d wandered into the forest with their mounts, but he was certain Geralt could hear this conversation. And he was relying entirely on Eskel, a Witcher he’d never met before nor had a chance to ingratiate himself to, not to blow his cover.

Quicker than his eye could register, Eskel flung a dark linen at the bard, causing him to drop his pack on reflex and throw up his arms. The Witcher grabbed his fallen pack before Jaskier could untangle himself from the towel and was rifling through it before the brown haired man knew what was happening.

“WHA-” but Jaskier stopped himself, remembering that Geralt could hear him. Furious, he marched over to Eskel, briefly registering the filled and steaming bathtub he’d not noticed before. He reached for his pack when Eskel pulled from it, of all things, one of his handkerchiefs he hadn’t seen in months. He stood, leaving the pack, and distancing himself from the bard.

The next thing he knew, the dark haired Witcher made an unfamiliar symbol with his right hand and the bard saw, and _felt_ , a pulse of power ripple through the room.

Seeming not to have been affected, Jaskier glared at the Witcher and knelt to grab his pack and began shoving the contents he’d emptied onto to the floor back into the pack.

Eskel laughed out loud. “Well, little bard, you are ridiculously sloppy in hiding where you’ve been, therefore Geralt must be ridiculously stupid about you.”

Jaskier dropped the pack and was on his feet in a flash, not knowing what he was going to do with the leather straps covering Eskel’s chest armor but grabbing them anyway, his desperation clear on his face. How could he beg this man wordlessly not to take his whole world from him?

“Calm down, calm down. That little spell I cast keeps anyone from hearing what happens in this room. The _White Wolf_ can’t hear about your filthy escapades-”

Jaskier’s fist connected with Eskel’s handsome jaw before he could think better of it, and to the bard’s total surprise, the Witcher’s face actually moved as though he’d been legitimately hit. He knew he’d done no damage and caused no pain, but a man had his pride, damn it. Suddenly this was all a little too twisted for him and enough was enough.

Jaskier waggled his hand, hoping he hadn’t done any damage to his precious coin maker, and looked at his handkerchief in Eskel’s grip. The Witcher’s gaze in return was not kind.

“We have never met, _sir_. I do not know you. How you come to speak of my private life with some familiarity-”

“That is my brother, _bard_.” Eskel growled and stepped uncomfortably close, obviously having no scruples about using his size to intimidate the younger man. “We do not share the same mother or father, yet we do. The Trials birthed us, and Vesemir shaped us. Fucking our mentor and using my brother to gain your fame? What are you after? Lettenhove must be something special, to produce a scheming, vile, piece-of-shit nobility as depraved as you.”

“How do you know about me and Vesesmir?” Jaskier demanded, his hands back on those leather straps and a snarl on his face. He wasn’t scaring anyone and he knew it, but his anger was still very real.

“Will you let me fuck you too? Spread your legs for me if I let you sing songs about me? Does Vesemir even pay you? Maybe all you have to be is a Witcher,” Eskel taunted.

“Geralt has never touched me,” Jaskier hissed and shoved at the straps again then let go, stepping away. “But he did vouch for you. He was obviously wrong to do it.”

Jaskier did not feel comfortable turning his back on this man, but he did it anyway and gathered his things, shoving his effects into the pack roughly. “I won’t stand for this. I don’t know how you found out about me and Vesemir or where I’m from but I won’t stay here under the same roof as an arse like you to be mocked. Vesemir told me Lambert was supposed to be the asshole but maybe he doesn’t really know his wards as well as he thinks he does.”

“Vesemir was the one who told me.”

That certainly gave Jaskier pause, but did not stop him. “I write songs of Witchers to tell the world what they really are - heroes. At least the ones I’ve met until now. That and this have nothing to do with each other.” He said nothing more and latched his bag. Suddenly Eskel was crouched in front of him, holding out his handkerchief. He reached to grab it, only to have it snatched away.

“Vesemir told me... that Geralt asked you to come to Kaer Morhen. That was _all_ the old man told me. He was in his cups, and realized his mistake before he said anything more. I didn’t solve the mystery of how he knew about your little invitation until just now, when I smelled _this_ on you,” he dropped the fabric into Jaskier’s hands. “It’s faint and mostly covered in the smell of your seed, but it’s _his_ scent underneath. As for what I know of you, it isn’t hard to find out if you’re trying to find out.”

He stood and offered Jaskier a hand up, which the bard ignored and got to his feet, immediately making for the door.

“Don’t know why Geralt hasn’t figured it out by now. Better burn the rag before you leave this room.”

Jaskier had a hand on the frame of the door and one foot out of it when Eskel said with an almost urgent tone, “Stop. Look… I have a temper.” He sighed heavily. “We all do. But… you did not lie. I can’t smell Geralt on you. Not like that, anyway. You aren’t lying about the awful songs, either-”

On reflex, Jaskier defended his work, “They aren’t awful-”

“And you have my apologies for my aggression and uncalled for words about your honor. It won’t happen again. Geralt and the others… We watch out for our own when we can. And Geralt is…” Eskel seemed to have lost the desire to use words, so he settled instead for a vague hand motion that was supposed to explain everything.

Thankfully, Jaskier spoke Witcher.

“Vesemir said the two of you were close. I… I’m somewhat protective of him myself, in my own way, as much as I can be. I can understand. But I don’t owe anyone any explanations. I may seem young to a Witcher but I’m more than of age. You wouldn’t demand an explanation of Vesemir. You have no right to demand such a thing of those he chooses to… partner with.”

Eskel snorted. “So is your plan to tell Geralt it’s none of his business? If you’re planning to lie, Geralt will know-”

“Yes, yes, Geralt will know the moment Vesemir and I _meet_ , I’ve already been told,” he snapped, feeling irritable for the wild emotional ride and more and more wishing Eskel would get out so he could get in the bath he’d so obviously been brought to in the first place. “But that is not your problem or your business, so unless you intend to spread Vesemir and I’s personal business and purposely cause strife, I suggest you leave me to calm down in this bath before I slander your name in a song that will live on for eternity.”

Eskel tilted his head in surprise at the abrupt return of Jaskier’s mettle, but he left, throwing an igni at the bath water and closing the door behind him.

***

His previous silencing spell dissipated before Geralt returned. When he did, he was obviously agitated.

“What did you do?” The white haired Witcher demanded.

Eskel ignored his question and gestured toward the meal placed for him at the table. “Triss has this place pretty loaded up, if I do say so myself. Always appreciate that one’s generosity. You ever noticed how for such a small cabin it almost always seemed to need more scutwork than the Keep when we’d come back? It’s been a boring afternoon since she left, but I sure am glad I stuck around for another day.”

Geralt’s eye twitched, the only sign he was going to give his friend that he was not in the mood for jokes. He could hear Jaskier safe in the bath, but that did not mean something wasn’t wrong. “You cast _caelm voe'rle_ -”

“Well, well, someone’s improved their spell-sense by leaps and bounds since our last meeting.”

Warning having already been given, Geralt was across the room in a second, hand around Eskel’s throat, his silver sword out and aimed at his brother’s unscarred eye.

“Calm down- mangy dog- I just asked if he’d be up for a fuck- gah!” Eskel choked and Geralt squeezed tighter for a second before releasing him and sheathing his sword. To the Witcher’s credit, Eskel merely cleared his throat and stayed on his feet, stretching his neck a little as Geralt retreated and went to stand at the table and stare angrily at the food without sitting down.

Eskel scoffed at the pathetic scene. “For Melitele’s sake Geralt he punched my face and said _no_. I can’t imagine how he introduced himself to you for the first time. It’s like he doesn’t have a normal brain, with the lack of fear-smell. You can’t blame me for trying. Or for trying to test him. Or maybe you blame yourself because _you_ obviously haven’t tried-”

“Enough, Eskel. I thought I’d be having these conversations in Kaer Morhen,” he said tiredly. Then added, “With _Lambert_.”

He sat down and pushed the plate away.

“You show up here, evidently looking for a place to pamper your delicate bard with a nice warm place to sleep and a bath. You were seriously prepared to haul dozens of buckets of water from the stream and back to have it ready for him-”

“It’s fucking winter Eskel I told you I’ve kept him out of inns for too long-”

“-and you expect me not to give you just the barest amount of shit? Lambert is going to have a hell of a lot more fun than I will.”

“He’ll try,” was Geralt’s growled response. “Obviously my bard can handle himself.”

Eskel felt his own eyes go round (which was very surreal - all of this was. He couldn’t remember making an unschooled facial expression since he was a child before the Trials). He quickly tamed his countenance before he set Geralt’s anger off again. _My bard._ He’d say that Vesemir would lose his shit over this, but apparently his mentor was perfectly happy to fuck the pretty man, leaving Geralt to do the falling in love.

“Obviously. I’ll leave you to it then.”

Geralt looked up, confused. “Where are you going?”

Eskel began gathering his belongings and shrugged. He’d get to see the rest of this sordid tale unfold for himself at the Keep. “I’ve raised the hackles on your sweet bard. I won’t make him endure my company any longer. Besides, I’ve got a lead on a contract in Montecalvo. From there I go to Mirt, then on to Kaer Morhen if nothing else distracts me.”

“Will you see Triss again?”

“We meet in Montecalvo.” 

“Send her my greetings and thanks. Until Kaer Morhen,” he nodded, then Eskel left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is much longer than the previous, sorry if that's bothersome somehow. Imagine that. Like, you were psyched to get here and see 1,400 words, but then get here and you're like "Aaaw, man more than DOUBLE the amount of words? FTS. This bitch is crazy." So sorry for you. I know it's hard.
> 
> Also, I hate when I make a continuity error and didn't mean to. When you do it on purpose it's almost edgy, fanfiction-writer-without-a-cause kinda attitude. But this one I should not have effed up. So woopsy in approximately three years of association Geralt and Jaskier have already been to Cintra and got their butts slapped by destiny. :D
> 
> As for the rest, hope its ok? I spent too much time looking at a map of the Continent, then got super paranoid that I didn't know how long it would take to travel from point A to point B, then angry at myself for not potentially giving our heroes enough time to travel to Kaer Morhen before winter is OVER, then I was like EVERYONE IS HERE FOR THE HOT DADDY SEX NOT YOUR BULLSHIT, SUSAN. (Not my name.) So I'm trying to let some of that go in hopes of writing a good fic ya'll can enjoy.
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely, encouraging comments thus far. I'm so grateful (and needy. Very, very needy for more, more, mORE I WANT EVERYTHIIIIIIIIIING) to everyone who took the time to read a chapter and comment, or leave kudos.


	4. I Was Going To Tell You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt explains the journey so far and is somewhat dense about some things. Jaskier is just very stressed. They arrive at Kaer Morhen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I forgot to mention I took liberties with from the last chapter: 1 Edler word + 1 Elder word = spell. Wee! Eskel looks how I want him to look, which is basically dark!Geralt.

Geralt felt restless. Coin from the last hunt was heavy in his pocket. Room and meal paid for and an ale in his hand, he nonetheless kept glancing at the tavern door. Any day now, any moment, a tall bard with blue eyes would sweep through, lute in tow.

He let his mind drift back to that moment he’d been unable to hold it back any longer. As he sat there pretending to stare into the fire while really tracing the bard’s features with his enhanced eyes, Jaskier appeared to almost glow; moonlight was cast upon his back and the small fire bathed his face in warm light. He was serene, a bit drowsy Geralt could tell, as long, clever fingers strummed Filavandrel’s lute. As often as the musician waxed on about Geralt’s own appearance, the Witcher wished the bard could have seen himself then. Perhaps it was better he had not. It didn’t bear thinking about what songs would be born of such inspiration. The ones he apparently inspired were bad enough.

Well, not truly bad in composition, he had to admit. To himself anyway. And his voice was quite fine. Unequaled, in fact, by any other today, as everyone knew.

Returning to the present, he took a long draught of his ale, not quite finishing it. It gave him an excuse to briefly quell the nagging feeling in his legs to _move_ , so he got up to make his way to the bar to request another drink.

Skirting around the full room, he didn’t have space to sidestep the door as it was opened and someone came in quickly from the cold, colliding with his side. A familiar smell flooded his nose.

“What on earth are you doing standing right by the door you big brute?”

A tense feeling in his chest unfurled at seeing his friend, but he immediately took in his shivering form and unhappy expression. He surveyed for signs of injury, smelled no blood, so Geralt assumed it was the usual stress of travel weighing on the bard. He led them to their table, motioning for the barmaid instead. He sat across from Jaskier and took several slow, deep breaths to scent the other man. He was eager to be used to it again after this latest absence.

Jaskier was quiet, which Geralt continued to chalk up to the bard’s intolerance for harsh traveling conditions. There was something… different, though. A strong sense of familiarity overtook him that he could not place. As he took another deep breath, cautious not to be obvious, he realized it was the bard’s _smell_. All the usual aromas were present - citrus and cinnamon - aromatics to comfort in the winter and promote a healthy immune system. Sweat from being under so many layers, traveling rations and more vials of oils that must be stashed in his pack. The particular smell of faded stress as the bard finally relaxed...

And something else. It flirted on the edge of his memory and he couldn’t place it. Not here. Whatever the smell was, he could not place the association - at least not while he was so focused on Jaskier being in front of him.

After a few more moments of being lost in trying to place it, Jaskier finally spoke up to ask what was wrong with him.

“Nothing.”

***

Geralt’s mood was declining by the second. Jaskier’s grin after returning from a night with the blacksmith and his wife was too smug for his liking. The whore he himself paid last night had been satisfactory, so the fuel for his attitude was not that he’d been deprived while Jaskier had indulged. Though it did sound as though he’d had a better time than Geralt. No, he had tired of seeing the bard take others to bed around the end of the first year. 

The closer they got to Kaer Morhen, the more Geralt sensed that Jaskier was having serious doubts about carrying on from Ard Carraigh. More than once he'd mentioned an offer for hire from the court for the winter. At this very moment he was chattering rapidly about staying another week to make the most of the various opportunities he wanted to pursue, not the least of which was another night with the _lovely_ couple.

“In the next few weeks the pass to Kaer Morhen will be ravaged by winter storms. We leave for Kaer Morhen today.”

Jaskier sighed and frowned, his scent soured briefly again by fear. This was another reason for Geralt’s mood. He was done reassuring Jaskier about the others at the keep. Despite seeming to recklessly trust Geralt in all other ways, Jaskier became miserable at any mention of his brothers. He assumed this was the reason for the smell, as it was the only explanation that made sense. He cursed Eskel for complicating matters further. He would be answering that offense in full. Eskel had seen Jaskier’s measure, but he what he'd said had been wrong.

Geralt very much _could_ blame him for testing his bard. 

Jaskier was no stranger to unwanted advances, Geralt knew, and could usually hold his own against human aggressors. A Witcher was another matter, though, and as fastidious as his bard was about his partners, he was sure Eskel’s intimidating presence and abrupt proposal had done more than offended Jaskier’s sensibilities.

Geralt had his trust, though, and the thought made him feel unusually warm.

“Well, I suppose that does limit the options.” He sighed again and though his mood hadn’t lifted, he smiled lopsidedly at Geralt as he pushed the last scraps of his breakfast around with a fork. He started to say something, then looked at Geralt as if trying to figure something out, then seemed to change his mind.

“I won’t let you die on the way there.”

The bard snorted. “I know.”

“You don’t have to come.”

Jaskier looked at him again, something almost pleading in his expression, as if he was begging Geralt to forgive him if he did change his mind. Geralt said nothing for a time, committed to giving Jaskier this chance to back out if he really wanted to. He would never extend the invitation again. Then, he would act like it never happened, and look to see him the following spring when their paths inevitably crossed again. Lolly would be left to carry the much lighter burden of his extra pack, instead of a mouthy bard that braided the bottom of her mane despite getting a nip for his efforts more often than not. Eskel (and only Eskel if he was lucky, which he wasn’t) would pester him for all time about the bard who didn’t show up.

“I know,” Jaskier sighed. “I’m coming. I’ve come this far. Besides, Lolly and Roach would miss me terribly, and we cannot deprive the Witchers of Kaer Morhen of the pleasure of my fine company!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. False or true, bravado was something he was used to seeing from Jaskier, which gave him some hope that things would return to their usual way from here on out.

***

It did not go back to usual. Jaskier quickly tired of singing in the cold air, and spent every spare moment recounting their journeys thus far. Usually, these conversations involved the bard digging information out of Geralt for the times when the Witcher left him behind - details on how certain fights were won, the involvement of the locals, gossip on any salacious details involving nobility.

This was not like that.

“Do you remember the alghoul in Acorn Bay?”

“Hmm.”

“I distinctly remember the panic I felt when I realized you were about to run out of places to go on that plank. Sparing no thought to my own life, I had resolved to bravely make a run at it’s back with the dagger-”

“Good thing you didn’t,” Geralt interjected, suddenly imagining what gruesome death that desperation would have led to.

“-then, utter genius that I am, I realized the only reasonable course of action was to collapse the floor-”

The white haired man snorted. The floor _had_ collapsed. Whether that was due to Jaskier magically deciding it should, or that it could no longer bear his weight due to the damage of the fight with the alghoul, the bard was apparently applying his own creative interpretation.

“-thereby successfully distracting the foul thing from devouring you in the chaos of the destruction, my own life be damned.”

“Yet you are not speaking to me from the grave.”

Jaskier nearly lost his footing on a tricky bit of snow but quickly righted himself. Geralt took note of it though, casting a quick look at the other man’s boots to make sure they were still in decent condition. They seemed fine. He gave Jaskier credit for not throwing his full weight on Lolly when this happened. Occasionally they walked when they could to spare the horse and mule the trouble. As they progressed, this would be less and less often. Jaskier would drop the rein and topple forward awkwardly before putting a gentle hand on her flank to help right himself. She unfailingly whipped back to bite him, but the effort seemed a little half hearted at this point, as the most she managed to do was whip Jaskier in the face with her wiry mane and almost nudge him off balance again.

“I do appreciate your ensuing life saving efforts on my behalf, Geralt, _of course_. I wrote a song about it, if you recall. Which you probably don’t. But it wouldn’t hurt, from time to time, to recount some of _my_ more heroic efforts on your account. I found the Beggartick blossoms after your encounter with the Koschey. I-”

“I know your worth, Jaskier. You might even say,” he continued slowly, bringing Roach to a stop, raising his eyebrows and punctuating his words, “I know this so well, that I have decided to bring you to the home of my childhood, as a way of showing my _appreciation_ for our bond. What is the point of this?”

Jaskier stopped and sputtered for a moment. Then he quieted and was uncharacteristically grave for a time.

“What, Jaskier?” Geralt inquired again, losing his patience.

Jaskier’s brow creased and he licked his wind chapped lips. He laughed but there was no humor in it and he said, “Perhaps it might help, someday, if I ever-” The bard paused again and chuckled, a little more spirit in it this time, but Geralt was no more convinced. “If I ever manage to rouse your anger in such a manner as might cause you to consider, I don’t know, flinging me from the highest tower of your precious keep-”

“What the fuck are you talking about now?” Geralt growled, his eyes narrowing in a way that was almost reflex at this point. He had an instinctive reaction around the smell of Jaskier’s guilt. Who’s spouse or lover had he crossed this time? It made no sense. They were on their way to Kaer Morhen, with their next destination after that undetermined. Whatever mischief he’d gotten into this time, he at least needn’t bother Geralt with it until spring. What and why was he bringing it up now? What other trouble could he have gotten into, and when had he had the time to do it?

“Nothing! I’m just… preparing for all… eventualities,” he finished lamely.

There was more to it than that and Geralt knew it. But Jaskier obviously had no intention of sharing, so he trudged onward, now fully ignoring the bard for putting him back in a foul mood.

***

They would reach the keep tomorrow. The storm would blow itself out before morning and leave them with clear conditions to make the final few hours of the journey.

He’d brought them to a cave Vesemir had shown him - shown all of them - when they were young. Large enough for five steeds and three Witchers, so it was plenty of room for the four of them. Between their body heat and the decent fire he’d been able to build with tinder left behind from the last Witcher to spend time here, it managed to keep them both warm without Jaskier having to huddle and shiver. In fact, on the other side of the fire, Jaskier slept surprisingly well. Most people would sleep well after enduring such exhaustion and constant cold and battering from the elements. But Jaskier was obviously _very_ comfortable, and deep in his dreams.

The arousal permeating their temporary domicile was cloying, blocking out any other scent he could hope to distract himself with, so he had no choice but to endure it. Jaskier needed the rest, and Geralt had no desire to go stand out in the storm. Certainly better inside with a stiff cock he could do nothing about while Jaskier lay but a few feet from him whimpering and sighing in his sleep. It must be a very good dream, the Witcher thought with no little frustration. Were that he could sleep and dream away his sexual frustrations. It certainly occurred to him that with Jaskier very well oblivious to consciousness, and quite obviously involved in his dream, it would be nothing for Geralt to free himself from his confines and take himself in his hand, all the while enjoying the show and soft sounds. But this was a step further than he’d ever gone before. It was one thing to furiously stroke himself listening to Jaskier’s cries from a couple rooms down the hall in the privacy of his _own_ room behind a locked door, or to be a little too focused on those noises if he happened to be with a whore. He would never be caught, being able to hear when the bard was finished and if he was going to drag himself back to their room before the night was over.

Smelling like that.

Geralt growled to himself as Jaskier muttered something and let out a gentle keening sound. The boy wasn’t aware that he was having a dream in front of Geralt at all, let alone a sensual one. He reasoned that Jaskier knew damn well Geralt could hear him with his lovers if he was close enough, and he’d never bothered to keep his voice down. _That_ was fair game. This was not that. It was too much of a violation on Geralt’s part, and though his cock twitched and his loins ached when Jaskier muttered a sweet “yes”, he did nothing about it.

***

Jaskier _was_ having a very good dream. He was bound by his hands from the ceiling, his lithe body a taught line as he was jostled roughly by Vesemir from behind. He looked down and saw Geralt kneeling before him, just in time to swallow his leaking cock down to the base.

In that funny way that dreams always tended to be, words were being spoken but he couldn’t understand them, and for all the pleasure he was feeling, he noticed the absent pinch of bindings and the eventual burn in his muscles from being strung up to stand on just his tip toes. Or tip toe, as Vesemir hooked one hand then under his knee and lifted his leg, allowing him to fuck Jaskier at a deeper angle. Geralt quickly abandoned the bard’s cock for his balls.

Jaskier wanted to cry out, moan, _something_ , but all he could manage was to whine and mumble softly. Though his eyes were open, watching Geralt look up at him while lathed his tongue over Jaskier's sack, they felt closed in exhaustion.

Then it finally hit him - he was dreaming.

The fact escaped him as quickly as he thought it.

Then he was on his back in a familiar room at the Honeysuckle House.

There were far too many people in the room. It was an orgy and he could feel the hot, slick touch of others, but he couldn’t really _see_ them. A cool tingling sensation traveled up and down his spine as he spent several minutes just floating through pleasurable sensation, not so much dreaming of anything very coherent - more just feeling incredibly _good_.

Then he could hear voices that were rudely pulling him from the warm flow of near orgasmic bliss. He could feel stress building from somewhere, robbing him of the sexual ether he’d slipped into. A vision of three Witchers sitting by the fire and drinking together. They seemed vaguely familiar, but their features were all wrong, and their conversation hardly made sense.

“He’s good for fucking lyrics, but his bread work is as bad as his axii,” the oldest among them grumbled.

“He offered to write a song about me while you were taking care of the horses,” the dark hair man tattled in a knowing voice.

The white hair man hmm’d and said calmly, “He killed Roach’s husband, and Lolly only pretends to like him.”

“Well don’t be too hard on him, Geralt. I’m _am_ fucking him.”

“Vesemir…” Jaskier whispered urgently, though he wanted to shout.

“He’s been fucking Vesemir since before he knew you, Geralt.”

“Geralt…” Jaskier tried to say from the bed, all of the sudden very stressed about the direction this strange conversation was taking. At the same time, the phantom sensations of pleasure had not fully left him.

“Geralt…” But it left his mouth at no more than a whisper. He turned hard in his dream and began to fall from the bed, only to roll from his pallet onto the cold cave floor as he finally awoke. He gasped as the world righted itself and he put his thoughts together.

_Right, incomprehensible sex dream… Was I sleep talking?_ Jaskier couldn’t help sneaking a glance in Geralt’s direction, only to be met with molten gold eyes staring right back at him.

“Nice dreams, Jaskier?” Geralt asked.

***

Geralt regretted the teasing. It was a feat to make a Witcher feel ashamed of his behavior. He’d sucker punched Jaskier before and not given it a second thought. But he hadn’t expected his companion’s shell shocked reaction and _shame_. Yes, Jaskier had muttered Geralt’s name a few times. If the brown haired man hadn’t promptly woken up after, the Witcher’s noble commitment and previous patience would have been tossed aside within seconds, and he would have taken himself in hand and enjoyed the sweet noises being made.

Of all the people and all the things, he figured he could joke with Jaskier about showing up in a wet dream. They traveled together so frequently, had been through thick and thin, and anyway how many times had Jaskier made lewd jokes at the expense of Geralt? Geralt and his thick thighs, Geralt, who’s cock must surely make whores faint, Geralt by the gods your ass, and on and on.

The musician had sputtered, and started, “Did I…”

“Was I enjoying myself in your dream as much as you were?”

He’d scrambled to his feet then, muttered an apology and made to pack up his bed roll and possessions.

Geralt had followed along merely because it was time to break camp anyway and complete their final leg of the journey. Sunrise would begin any moment now.

But silence persisted between them even as they led Roach and Lolly on the narrow path. He could see it in the way Jaskier held his shoulders; tightly, as if trying to protect himself from Geralt’s bad opinion. He could try to comfort him, but he would say the wrong thing, which would absolutely make it worse. He’d been down that road before.

That, and Geralt was feeling a particular kind of elation knowing that even if just in his dreams, Jaskier had been thinking of him like that. He didn’t think he could keep the lust out of his voice if he tried to tell Jaskier he had nothing to be ashamed of, that it was completely natural given their friendship and how often they were together, and that Geralt thought nothing of it.

The white haired man would be glad to get to Kaer Morhen simply because this tension had to break once they reached the journey’s end. Jaskier’s reluctance to meet the other Witchers, trying to put off making it to their destination in Ard Carraigh, suddenly bringing up mischief he may _potentially_ get into one day, now this. It had been an odd journey altogether. One that Jaskier did not actually seem to _want_ to make, though Geralt had given him plenty of chances to change his mind, and even turn back.

Geralt was sick of thinking about it. He would get Jaskier to Kaer Morhen, and then the damn bard would _settle_ , and whatever it was that was making him unhappy would either become clear, or go away. Or he’d make it go away, whatever it was. Then he’d put all of his effort into finally getting the mouthy, infuriating man into his bed.

***

Jaskier pictured it over and over again. He’d kick Lolly in the haunches, and she would lurch forward with too much momentum for a stunned Geralt to stop, and she would race as fast as her hardy legs would carry her right towards the edge of the cliff.

They wouldn’t go over together, no. She would dig her hoofs in at the last second, skidding to a stop right at the edge. But not before Jaskier would fly from her back because he could not hold on. Right over the edge of the cliff he would fly, then fall into the abyss below. As he went down, he would shout, “Toss a coin to your Witcherrrrrrrrrrrrrr…” until the thump of his body being dashed against the rocks could be heard echoing from the chasm.

“Mind yourself, it's just around the corner,” Geralt said, and Jaskier’s heart started racing again, bringing him back to the present. He grimaced, not sure how much more it could take. He’d panicked when Geralt teased him earlier, assuming he’d said more than _just_ Geralt’s name. He hadn’t, which was only slightly less awful than if he had shouted for Vesemir.

It was a sad day in his life when this wasn’t the opportunity he used to finally seduce his Witcher. The bard couldn’t have asked for a better set up. Geralt didn’t seem disgusted in the slightest, or offended. If Jaskier had had a mind to really notice, he would have seen his friend’s delightful amusement, which was so rare.

But no. No, Jaskier was on his way to the gallows, and now he knew what kind of man he was. He did not flirt on his way to potentially losing the most important person-

“No,” he told himself out loud. Vesemir’s words came back to him, and he shook himself. Geralt would get over it. Vesemir would shelter him if Geralt’s anger was bad enough.

Either Geralt hadn’t noticed Jaskier’s quiet exclamation, or it was a sign of how ready he was to be done, because he did not break his gait nor look back at Jaskier to ask him what he was talking about. It seemed his vision was fixed on something, and the bard tried to follow his gaze to see what it could be. It became obvious in the next moment as the thickly forested area opened into a clearing that provided an open view.

They had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it. Geralt could smell it, he just didn't know what he was smelling. And yes, it's going to occur to him later. ;)
> 
> I feel like I should apologize for not having a regular update schedule, but I did warn you about how we fly By the Seat of Our Pants Airlines. I can always hope that this will develop quickly and regularly. You guys hope right along with me.
> 
> I pretty much knew all the sexin' would happen in Kaer Morhen, so thanks for hanging in there while we got through this build up. More drama and sexin' to follow.
> 
> Thank you all for your comments, encouragement, and suggestions. I appreciate the back and forth interaction so please feel free to leave a comment and I will do my best to respond without shamelessly padding my comment count.
> 
> Again, no beta, sorry for all the very poor punctuation and such.


	5. Fine! Everything's fine!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mage's presence complicates the status quo. Geralt commits a gaffe of monumental proportions. Jaskier finally gets a well earned fuck- I mean break. Jaskier gets a well earned break. Vesemir is done with this shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well good luck with all this. Truly sorry for any and all mistakes. We're going beta-commando here, I apologize for any chafing.

“Triss?” Geralt breathed, as if he was recovering from a blow to his chest. A beautiful, red haired woman stood at the top of the steps to the entrance of Kaer Morhen, a friendly grin on her face. Geralt was gobsmacked, which was not something Jaskier had ever seen before. She was the only one there to greet them, and Jaskier could only hope to continue buying more moments of peace before this all came to a head.

Despite the snow and ice, the woman flew down the steps and into Geralt’s arms like a dove, her green and wine colored robes flowing behind her. He welcomed her, though he still looked confused, embracing her easily and going so far as to bury his nose in her hair for a moment while obviously enjoying being in her arms.

Jaskier averted his gaze, suddenly feeling like an intruder. He started unpacking Lolly to give himself something to do.

“What are you doing here, Triss?”

“I’m here to help Vesemir. Eskel convinced me that his greenhouse could use some magical intervention. Unless I am called away, I have been invited to stay for the winter. Can you imagine? You can have no idea how much I’ve always wanted to come here, but of course you would never ask me,” she lectured him teasingly. They remained close as Geralt muttered something that sounded to Jaskier like an excuse, and Triss laughed, bright and bubbly.

“And this must be Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, better known as the famous bard Jaskier,” Triss said, stepping back from Geralt with another pretty smile. She looked at the bard and his mule with open curiosity.

Jaskier supposed his manners were at the bottom of the chasm he’d been fantasizing about earlier. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, opting for a friendly look even if he could not summon a full smile. “You are correct, madam,” and he placed a hand to his chest and bowed his head to her. “I’m afraid I have not had the good fortune to meet you before.”

She made an amused sound and her beautiful smile got even bigger for a moment before she curtsied and responded, “Triss Merigold, at your service. I have known Geralt many years. I am a mage for-”

“-for the courts of Temeria,” Jaskier finished for her, stunned. He looked back and forth between the two of them, wide eyed for a moment. A legendary mage, who just happened to be an old “friend” of Geralt’s, was greeting them at the gates of Kaer Morhen.

The loud, grinding sound of said gates being opened interrupted the star struck bard, and together they made their way to the outer courtyard.

Triss was chatting up a storm at the white haired Witcher (Geralt offering monosyllables here and there) and Jaskier was tuning it out in favor of keeping his eyes peeled for the next person they would encounter. The courtyard seemed to be empty, and while the two kept talking, Jaskier saw the stables and decided to be proactive, for a lack of anything else to be or anything better to do. Lolly followed him to the shelter, and Jaskier was just about to lead her in when out of the darkness of the stall emerged a figure that startled Jaskier badly. At least he didn’t scream this time.

“Is that a habit of yours? Skulking in dark corners waiting to scare the shit out of passersby?” Jaskier hissed, shoving past the grinning Eskel and removing Lolly’s bit.

“It’s all for you, bard. I just came to watch.” He added, “Let me take her. I know what she likes.”

“So do I, I’ve only been sitting on her back for the last two months!” Jaskier snapped.

They were interrupted by Geralt bringing Roach into the stall next to Lolly. He didn’t say anything, just _looked_ at Eskel.

“Just trying to convince your bard to let me handle Lolly,” Eskel offered, and Jaskier was satisfied to hear a note of hesitance in his voice.

Geralt continued to stare menacingly at the other Witcher before saying, “Eskel can handle Lolly, Jaskier.” Then, he added to his brother, “Don’t touch Roach, I’ll be back for her.”

When they reentered the courtyard, they had been joined by two more people besides Triss. Jaskier’s heart was hammering again, for there, next to someone he did not know, was Vesemir.

As they approached, Jaskier could not take his eyes off of his powerful but muted presence. Still, that did not mean he did not notice how Triss reached out to Geralt as they returned, threading her arm through his when he reached her side as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Geralt nodded to Vesemir and to the other Witcher, then nodded to Triss and began to lead them all inside.

Vesemir raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat. Geralt stopped and looked at his mentor for clarification.

Jaskier couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh, scream, or cry, or all of those things at once. Geralt didn’t even register his presence now that mage had appeared. Of course! Triss Merigold of Temeria was here, and for obvious and horrible reasons he just might get away with everything he desperately thought he needed to. He couldn’t bear thinking about it beyond that.

After a beat, the one Jaskier assumed must be another Witcher (so probably Lambert) spat, “Introduce us to your fucking bard, you stupid, Melitele damned savage _idiot_ -”

Vesemir scowled and swatted the back of his head, hard. Lambert immediately stopped, but still seemed satisfied if his smirk was any indication.

Geralt’s confusion faded and he waved his free arm at Jaskier and said, “This is Jaskier. If you’ve been treated or paid better lately, you can thank him for it.”

And that was apparently that for introductions, and Geralt continued to lead them inside.

Jaskier stood heavily in place as he watched Triss, Geralt, and Lambert disappear into the keep. He heard the heavy sigh that escaped Vesemir. He might have heard a “tsk”ing noise come from the stables.

Adjusting his lute with a shrug of his shoulder, the bard made his way forward, feeling the worst he had felt on this journey thus far. Saved by the virtue of his insignificance. What a wonderful song it would all make.

***

Vesemir did not want to deviate from his plan. Geralt had already shot that to shit, however, and the bard looked as though the slightest puff of air would blow him to pieces. Not that it would, Vesemir knew. Not in front of strangers it would be unwise to appear vulnerable in front of. Jaskier was a prodigy of Oxenfurt and the product of well heeled nobility, for all that he presented himself as a careless rake. He could pull a very convincing poker face. Still, it tugged at something in Vesemir unpleasantly to see the man strained this way. He needed a warm fire and several decent meals and space from prying little shits like Lambert.

Vesemir could help him. But that hadn’t been his plan.

His _plan_ had been to step back and let nature finally take its course between Geralt and the bard. Nature’s course had then led them right into a fresh, smouldering pile of shit. He barked instructions at Lambert to have a warm meal brought to his office and Jaskier’s effects brought to a readied room. Just so the information would get to Geralt, because Lambert was a sieve from which all information spilled, he informed him that he would be giving the bard a tour of the keep and they were not to be disturbed.

He turned to Jaskier, who was doing a commendable job of affecting a casual posture and open expression.

“Leave your things and follow me, bard.”

Leaving behind everything from his lute to his heavy winter layers, Jaskier quickly unburdened himself.

Vesemir then led him through the main hall first, pointing out the multiple entrances and explaining when meals were served there. He told him of the chore schedule, warning that forgotten or ignored duties resulted in loss of privileges in the hot springs and/or extra manual labor.

Before they were to move on, Vesemir stopped and looked at Jaskier expectantly.

Jaskier returned the look with a confused one of his own, and said, “What?”

“Thought you’d be excited to assess the acoustics.”

Jaskier’s tight face broke out into a begrudging smile and he laughed quietly, remembering the conversation from months earlier. Vesemir reached out and grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it, glad to see him let go of the tension for a moment. “Maybe later,” the Witcher suggested. He didn’t drop his hand, instead companionably guiding him on their way until he finally brought it all the way around the bard’s shoulder, and he felt Jaskier lean into him and sigh.

His office was warm from the fire Lambert had lit (he wondered briefly if Eskel had had to tell him to do that or if the excitement of the day was giving his youngest fits of inspiration), and as instructed a simple bowl of stew with bread and wine waited on a table between his two sitting chairs.

His office would not have looked like this had anyone walked into it last year. He rarely lit the fire, and it had, prior to a certain mage showing up, been covered in dusty tomes with but a few spaces to actually sit. Now magically repaired shelves held spotless editions that gleamed from the firelight. A table on the far wall held his maps, his desk stored his correspondence and supplies, and a charmed cabinet held his private apothecary. That Triss was damn useful, and generous; traits not often combined in one person, let alone a famous mage. But for some reason she was happily inclined to be there, using her magic to reinvigorate his struggling greenhouse and tidying things up in general. Far be it from him to complain.

Allowing Jaskier to eat in peace while he considered all that he’d witnessed until now, Vesemir considered Geralt’s actions. It wasn’t intentional malice - the fool had simply been blindsided by Triss’ presence. There was friendship between Triss Merigold and Geralt, and a willingness to enjoy each other’s company if they were so inclined. These were the actions of deeply ingrained habits born from a long association.

He knew Geralt, knew what the handful of words he’d spoken of Jaskier meant, and furthermore he knew why Geralt was bringing Jaskier here to their keep. The added layer of the implication of his involvement with Jaskier gave him a headache. This was not going according to plan at all, and trust that to always be the case where Geralt was involved.

Whatever had gone on during Geralt and Jaskier’s journey seemed to have been exacerbated by Geralt’s blunder at their arrival. The bard was _hurting._

Priorities would have him set all of that aside for tomorrow and focus on making the bard comfortable. So that is what he did.

When Jaskier was done, Vesemir simply said, “Come.” He took the younger man’s hand and led him down a hidden passage (not so secret, unfortunately, his little shitlings were too clever) from his office to his chambers. It wasn’t until they’d reached the bottom of the dark, twisting, stairwell that Jaskier remembered to be curious.

“Where are you taking me?”

The Witcher opened the door and led him inside. Triss had favored him with the same treatment for his chambers. It had been strange to bring a woman to his room that he wasn’t going to be fucking, but it had been worth the intrusion on his privacy, and the odd conversation that followed. His room had certainly been cleaner and more lived in than his office, but it was admittedly spartan. He didn’t think too hard about the implications of redecorating in anticipation of Jaskier’s arrival. He just didn’t want to hear the complaining, was all. Jaskier, for all his spirited bratting and provoking, insisted on comfortable surfaces. Now he had those surfaces.

“My room. Sound proofed, just so you know,” Vesemir added.

Jaskier stopped his scan of the room to look at the Witcher. “Like that spell Eskel used in the cabin? No one can hear us? For how long?”

“I’m told the spell will last the winter.”

Jaskier let out a loud huff and blinked a few times, looking around the room but not really _seeing_ , Vesemir could tell. He approached him slowly.

“Talk to me, bard. What-”

“What do you mean, _what_?” he seethed. “There’s nothing to talk about! My concerns were obviously entirely misplaced! This whole fucking journey has been one huge waste of my insignificant, _stupid_ fucking feelings-”

Vesemir took him loosely in his arms as Jaskier choked off his rant with a sob, then struggled to fill his lungs after. The older man gripped his forearms and looked him in the eyes.

“Breathe. Breathe.”

Jaskier nodded a little frantically, tears building in his eyes as he tried again to take in air, doing slightly better this time. Vesemir led them to his chaise and sat them down, waiting for the boy to calm, rubbing his back soothingly and nosing through his brown locks as Jaskier used his chest to synchronize his breathing. There were tears in his tunic, and he let Jaskier’s heart rate slow and his breathing even out.

After a while, the Witcher said, “I can take care of you. I want you here, Jaskier. I can also arrange a portal while backs are turned and you can be across the continent by tomorrow morning.”

Jaskier closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. He chuckled wetly and sat up. “I almost wish I would. I spent months and months overcoming the impulse to not show up, fake or obtain _real_ injury to avoid it... Hells Vesemir, I hoped Lolly would throw me from the mountainside more than a few times, but I carried on. How would you explain it to Geralt, anyway?”

Vesemir made a displeased noise and took Jaskier’s face in his hands, “Fuck Geralt. I don’t explain shit to my boys unless it suits _me_. What do you want, Jaskier?”

Jaskier leaned into his touch and covered the older man’s hands with his own.

“I’ll take good care of you, songbird, if you stay. I’ll help you leave if you have to go.”

Jaskier shuddered. “Please.”

***

“Don’t look at me like that Geralt, you all have your various quirks, and _that_ is Eskel’s, in my opinion. Oh, and my room is also enchanted to protect from curious ears, so he’ll never know.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and muttered, “ _Caelm voe'rle._ ”

“Ooh, your knowledge of spellcraft is improving. But enough about my exploits,” Triss sighed. She took a drink from her goblet and peered at him in a particularly familiar and charming way.

“Why have you brought Jaskier to Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt straightened in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I- fuck.”

“To fuck?” Triss quirked her head to the side.

“No!” Geralt growled, pounding the table with his fist hard enough for it to crack ominously. He snarled, “I mean yes! I- fuck Triss, damn it all-”

Triss stood and backed away, eyeing the angry bearcat that seemed to have taken the Witcher’s place.

“Geralt, what is going on?”

“I didn’t mean to follow you here!” He roared in frustration and shoved himself away from the table, knocking the chair across the room as he got up. “I AM here to fuck the bard, but I was happy to see you when you appeared, and I forgot AND FUCKING LEFT HIM ON THE STEPS-”

Triss waved a gentle axii at him, not much, just enough to reel the panic in - she’d done this before. Geralt’s panic took on the unfortunate quality of anger and violence, which would not be helpful. Instead of storming off, he stood there blinking and breathing deeply.

“I used axii, Geralt. This seems important so I want you to be calm. Can you be calm, dear?”

Geralt closed his eyes slowly, then opened them again. “Yes.”

“Just go right back down. You escorted an old friend to her room, is all. It hasn’t been that long, not quite an hour. Go help Jaskier settle into Kaer Morhen. Everything is fine.”

The white haired man inhaled deeply through his nose. Another moment went by and his form wracked with a shudder and then he blinked again, coming back to himself. “I’m sorry Triss. It _is_ good to see you again. I-”

“I know,” she smiled at him. “Good luck.”

***

When he doesn’t find Jaskier in the main hall he runs back to the courtyard toward the stables. It is empty of anyone but their mounts, and Geralt gets to work, professing his apologies to Roach, and finishes tending to her needs quickly. He uses those moments to think of what he would say to Jaskier by way of explanation, but he figured perhaps acting as though nothing had happened would give the bard the opportunity to fill in the space as he preferred.

On his way back inside, Lambert informed him with a smug look on his face that he had delivered the bard’s belongings to his room while Vesemir took him on a tour of the keep. Vesemir had said they were not to be disturbed.

Of course the old Witcher would want to make sure Jaskier had a firm understanding of how to navigate the keep and what dangerous areas to avoid. More than likely his mentor was lecturing his bard on the importance of the chore roster, and what manual labor would be expected of them during their stay. It mattered not - he hefted his pack onto his shoulder and made for his room. He needed to unpack and see to whatever scutwork was sure to be awaiting him.

On his way he found Eskel in the kitchens, and the dark haired Witcher informed him that thanks to Triss’ handiwork, the oven was in working order, the roofs were repaired, and the clever woman had even used her talent with plants to grow impenetrable tree roots that sealed the weak areas of the outer walls; repairs that would likely last for many years. Aside from the few minor tasks of repairing armor and weapons and replenishing his supply of potions that would usually occupy the remainder of their time, Kaer Morhen was ready to settle into for the winter.

“I won’t tolerate anymore hostility, Eskel,” Geralt took the opportunity to warn.

Eskel’s dark eyes met his own with a cool acknowledgement. “You have my word, Geralt.”

“What room did Lambert give him?”

“North chamber on the first floor.”

Not that it mattered, since Geralt planned to have the bard spending most of their spare time in his room anyway, but it was the farthest possible chamber from his own.

“I’m on the evening meal. Don’t expect Vesemir will be joining us.”

Geralt hmm’d. With a mage used to holding court and a shamelessly chatty bard added to their midst, he wasn’t surprised that the man would withdraw. With nothing left to do but wait, and he refused to be seen _doing_ that, he returned to his chambers to wait for the evening meal. Vesemir would likely return his bard by then.

***

It wasn’t hard for Jaskier to put Geralt from his mind when he knew the Witcher was happily ensconced with the mage somewhere equally as deep in the keep as he was with Vesemir. Thus far he’d been treated to a couple shots of very fine liquor that had served to warm his entire body and had helped loosen his exhausted muscles. And then, much to his delighted surprise, Vesemir led him, of all places, to his _bathing chamber_.

He vaguely registered the Witcher explaining something about the hot springs and plumbing but it mattered not since all it amounted to was a larger tub than he alone could fill, steam rising from the inviting waters, tempting him. He started stripping, almost losing his balance in a bid to get in the water as fast as he could.

Vesemir had declined to join him, instead moving around his room while Jaskier bathed and sighed and eventually started talking.

“Then we went to the cabin where the _fabulous_ Triss Merigold had already left her mark and Eskel was there..."

"He cornered me and found an old handkerchief that apparently smelled like you…"

"I kept trying to stall in Ard Carraigh…"

"I had the _strangest_ sex dream right before we got here and Geralt heard me say his name…”

By the time Jaskier’s skin started to prune, he felt greatly improved. He was sick of recounting everything and ready to forget about it for the night. Where Vesemir had secured dinner for them, he wasn’t sure, but he was grateful to avoid the prospect of leaving the Witcher’s rooms to face everyone in the main hall. They took their meal on a comfortable rug before the fire, not speaking much as Jaskier finally released the last of his tension.

Vesemir gathered up the remnants of their dinner and instructed Jaskier to stay where he was. When he returned, he unabashedly set down a vial of oil on the rug next to them and he was about to lay down next to the bard when he was interrupted with a request.

“I want to touch you, and see you. Will you strip for me?”

The brown haired man looked up at him from his sprawl on the fur with entreating eyes. The infuriating brat even slowly bit his bottom lip, letting his knees fall open as he batted his lashes.

Vesemir had promised to take care of him, so even though he was not one to show off for his lovers, his mouth turned up into the slightest grin and with measured movements on _just_ this side of too slow, he removed his clothes and boots while Jaskier watched him.

The boy was practically vibrating as he tossed his chemise aside and wriggled out of his trousers. By the time Vesemir finally shucked off his small clothes, surprisingly strong hands were grabbing for the Witcher. Jaskier rose up like a wave against Vesemir; he was buffeted and pushed down into the fur and kissed relentlessly and deeply. He writhed against the master of Kaer Morhen, relishing the rough glide of their bodies together. Soon, though, Vesemir was growling into those kisses as Jaskier’s hands sought to reacquaint himself with every ridge and muscle, scar and crevice. His cock jumped when the older man grunted for him to turn onto his belly and spread his legs.

He expected slick fingers next, his body and mind eager for the distraction of a thick cock inside of him. When Vesemir kissed and licked his way down Jaskier’s spine instead he shuddered, unable to contain his gasps. Two calloused hands groped and pinched his ass; Vesemir was obviously once again taking his time to enjoy his very favorite part of Jaskier’s anatomy. The bard loved feeling admired like this, something in the roughness of Vesemir’s eager fondling always made the bard feel particularly sensual and desired. The Witcher would grab a handful of him and then let go, just to see his ass jiggle a little, following it with a hot slap that would make Jaskier’s whole body twitch in response.

After several long minutes of this, Jaskier cried for mercy, for more, for Vesemir to get the fuck on with it already, which only earned him one final, _hard_ slap before a pillow was being tucked under his hips. Then the Witcher was guiding the bard’s hands to his rear, growling, “Hold yourself open for me, that’s a good boy,” and Jaskier’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he dropped his forehead to the fur rug and spread his legs a little more.

Then Vesemir’s mouth was hot on his hole and the Witcher’s stubble scraped against already sensitive skin and Jaskier was overstimulated in seconds, moaning his pleasure without restraint. Vesemir answered the noise with a satisfied grumble and did not let up, even as Jaskier began to beg.

“I need it gods Vesemir please oh please I need your cock inside me please fuck me hard make me come please I’ll be so good for you daddy-”

Vesemir coated a finger with the oil and pressed firmly against Jaskier’s spit slicked entrance, licking around the pink rim and biting at the surrounding flesh as his finger penetrated the man beneath him. Hot muscle fluttered around his digit and Jaskier was panting, canting his hips backwards to take more. Vesemir took his time, warming the bard up thoroughly, moving from harassing the skin around his hole to lathing his velvety sack with his tongue while he added another finger.

Jaskier went from begging to _demanding_ fairly quickly after that, and Vesemir could not help but grin as he kissed the inside of each thigh. Soon enough he was thrusting three fingers into the bard’s slick passage.

“How do you want it, boy?” Vesemir asked, withdrawing his fingers, enjoying Jaskier’s indignant cry of complaint at suddenly being left empty. As he rose to his knees his eyes never left the bard’s glistening, pink furl. He reached for the vial and emptied the remainder of its contents on his straining cock. Jaskier’s only response to this was to lift his hips and slide the crease of his ass along Vesemir’s slick length while looking back over his shoulder through beautifully mussed hair, cheeks pink from exertion and pleasure, as though the Witcher was testing the younger man's patience.

He licked his swollen lips and whined, “However the fuck you want it daddy just _please_ -”

With bruising force because Vesemir knew the brat _liked_ it, strong hands grabbed Jaskier’s hips and yanked him onto his hands and knees. The Witcher reached a strong arm up that surprisingly well muscled back to wrap a hand in those brown locks and fisted tightly, _lifting_ the bard onto his knees as he did. The younger man moaned loudly at the treatment, his hands gripping Vesemir’s wrist for support, “Yes yes yes-” and using his knees to further spread Jaskier’s legs, Vesemir used his free hand to position his leaking cock and nudge the head into the slick furl.

Gravity performed the rest as Jaskier sank down onto Vesemir’s length and the Witcher moaned into the boy’s neck. The bard did not let him go slowly, lifting and dropping down as his knees slid on the rug to keep purchase as Vesemir thrust up, burying himself in hot, silky flesh. Jaskier’s head fell back onto the older man’s shoulder, and the Witcher licked a hot stripe up his neck, sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin and worrying it as he grasped Jaskier’s hips and started to thrust harder and faster, dominating the pace between the two of them. Jaskier’s arms fell to his front where he grabbed and worked his length with both hands.

“Ah ah ah ah-” Vesemir’s songbird warbled. “Yes Vesemir gods missed this needed this need _you_ please put your hand on my neck-”

Vesemir snarled as he snapped his hips forward and bottomed out, squeezing hand-shaped bruises into fair skin to calm himself for a moment before slowly tilting them both back to shift the weight distribution to the cradle of his hips. Sliding his fingers along a trembling torso, Vesemir’s hand wrapped firmly around the front of Jaskier’s throat. He could feel the younger man swallow hard, the bob of his adam’s apple caressing the Witcher’s calloused palm. He squeezed just briefly, and began to thrust again, holding the bard’s head easily as he did so.

Though he did not have the full momentum from before, he had enough leverage to thrust at just the right angle to drag against Jaskier’s prostate, so he did that, repeatedly.

“Like that, songbird?”

“Uh uh uh uh-” came Jaskier's gutteral reply.

“Oooh pretty sounds, my pet. I want more-”

“Oh fuck oh Vesemir-”

Vesemir bit down on his neck again and gave the boy's throat another gentle squeeze. He was rewarded with Jaskier’s passage clamping down on his length. He groaned and sucked a bruise that possibly wouldn’t fade before winter passed into Jaskier’s shoulder. Then the Witcher’s constricting hand left the bard’s pretty throat to tangle with the other man’s around his leaking cock. He batted him away, Jaskier instead choosing to reach back and touch whatever skin of Vesemir’s he could reach.

“Jaskier,” Vesemir grunted, bottoming out again and thrusting no more, reaching down to grope at Jaskier's balls as he jerked the younger man, holding him in place. Jaskier cried out and his body spasmed against the treatment, his orgasm building as Vesemir’s thick cock pressed against his prostate while those clever, rough, strong hands wrung every ounce of pleasure from his flesh that he thought was possible with firm strokes and a flick of his wrist.

“Fuck ah fuck!” he wailed as strings of pearly liquid coated the fur rug beneath him. Jaskier spasmed and shuttered as the firestorm of his orgasm ripped from his loins to the top of his head and tips of his fingers, leaving him light headed and dizzy in its wake.

He’d gone from vertical to horizontal, and that was all he knew until he heard the sound of flesh slapping against flesh and realized Vesemir was finishing himself off inside of him, jostling his hips none too gently as he sought his own pleasure and release. Slut that he was, he whimpered and lifted his ass up without being fully aware he was doing so, and soon enough there was a _very_ satisfied growl, a warm wetness from within that overflowed and dripped down his thighs, followed by the pleasant weight of a body atop his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Triss. I also really apparently love Vesemir. What exactly do we need Geralt for in this fic? I kid, I kid, I have exciting aspirations for that.
> 
> Hope this went over well? I had to google the meaning for "whump" yesterday. I think this qualifies as Jaskier!whump. I'm slightly concerned that I went overboard with the "witless" Geralt and "tortured" Jaskier, but Georgia O'Keeffe said something about exaggeration being another kind of truth so here we are.
> 
> The feedback keeps me going, so please let me know if this was a bad miss or a decent hit. Or a decent miss or a bad hit.


	6. I thought you-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vesemir is beginning to wonder if these two idiots aren't cursed. Triss, Lambert, and Eskel spill the various teas. Our boys come around to some favorable conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to evilfujoshi for the crucial feedback.

“Good morning Geralt, Lambert!” Triss gushed, all smiles until Geralt’s sour countenance didn’t abait when she joined him to break the morning fast in the kitchen. Lambert was alternating between whistling and cursing as he prepared the food, shooting Triss a wink as she sat down.

“What’s wrong?” She asked Geralt, leaning across the table to gather his hands in hers. “What happened?”

Geralt sighed and shook his head. “For all I know he got drunk and played Gwent with Vesemir all night. He never went to his room. Hasn’t shown himself this morning.”

Lambert burst out in laughter as he started flippings eggs and sweet cakes with frankly impressive coordination.

Geralt rolled his eyes and was inclined to ignore him, but Triss questioned the youngest Witcher. “What is so funny, Lambert? Do you know where Jaskier is?”

“I got my guesses, Miss Merigold,” he said as he began loading platters. “A man’s got to eat though, so stick around the kitchen long enough and I’m sure poor Geralt here will find out what his little bard’s been up to.”

Triss gave Geralt a consoling smile and rubbed her thumbs soothingly over his knuckles.

Sure enough, within seconds of speaking about it, Jaskier could be heard down the hall yawning dramatically. Vesemir was with him, and Geralt let out a deep sigh of relief just to know where Jaskier was. He was safe in the keep, safe with Vesemir, but it was more disturbing than the Witcher wanted to admit that he’d misplaced his friend for a time.

Jaskier could feel his heartbeat was picking up again, and he swore to himself this would be the last time he gave himself a reason to stress over this. He would age prematurely at this rate, which was not acceptable. It was about to be over anyway. Taking a deep breath in, and comfort in Vesemir’s solid presence behind him, Jaskier strode into the kitchen-

-where he saw Triss Merigold clasping hands with Geralt at the table. _Petting_ those scarred knuckles like the Witcher was no more than a housecat.

“Good morning every-”

Geralt was on his feet immediately and the loud clatter of the chair startled Jaskier.

 _Guess I don’t have to say anything,_ Jaskier lamented inwardly, wanting to quail under the fierce, angry look on Geralt’s face, but standing his ground. Before anyone had a moment to say anything, a furious Witcher was moving toward the pair, Lambert was practically _howling_ with laughter, and Eskel suddenly appeared from the shadows he was fond of lurking in to draw Triss back from the anticipated fray. Vesemir was in front of Jaskier before he could step back, and suddenly two Witchers were facing off, teeth bared.

“You better have been coming for me, boy. I’m damn certain I didn’t raise you to beat on humans.”

 _That_ seemed to do the trick for Geralt; he came back to himself with profound confusion evident on his face. He looked back and forth between Vesemir and Jaskier rapidly, then stepped back slowly.

“What in the name of the heavens is going on, Geralt?” Triss demanded.

When he only continued to look between Vesemir and Jaskier, Lambert _helpfully_ supplied, “The Dandelion’s been fucking Geralt’s daddy for years now and the dumbass is just now figuring it out!”

He was figuring it out as Lambert said it, in fact, and it showed on his face as a new rage swept over the White Wolf. “That fucking _smell_ \- how the fuck did I not- this is why you didn’t want to come- THIS WAS WHY-”

Lambert was enjoying this far too much for anyone’s taste, even Eskel’s. The dark haired Witcher unceremoniously yanked the cackling nuisance out by the scruff and motioned for Triss to join them somewhere far away from the kitchen.

“How,” Geralt seethed, “WHY JASKIER?”

“I could never find the right time to tell you that... you weren’t the first Witcher I’d ever met.”

Geralt scoffed at that, but a noise from Vesemir silenced him.

“There came a time when I should have told you, but I was a coward,” the bard corrected, trying to keep his voice steady. “I didn’t know you had any connection to Vesemir. He’s about as forthcoming on details as you are... I didn’t think to speak of him when we met, as I’d only met _him_ the summer before you and I did in Posada. I had no reason to think I would see him again. That and somehow it didn’t seem the smart thing to brag about having fucked another Witcher when I was trying to… become your friend.” He finally braved looking up at Geralt but the Witcher was shooting his vicious gaze at his mentor.

There was a beat of silence before Vesemir spoke. “As for me, boy, who I bring to my bed or don’t is no business of yours. Jaskier seems to think he’s committed some unforgivable violation because I raised you, and I am important to you-”

Geralt grimaced and looked away.

“-but I don’t give a selkimore’s ballsack how you feel about that.”

Geralt’s face twitched. Then he stood and looked at Vesemir and _only_ Vesemir. “I’m going to hunt.”

“Good. I’ll join you at the gate,” Vesemir informed him in a tone that brooked no argument.

Geralt glared at the older Witcher and didn’t spare a glance for Jaskier as he left in the direction of the main hall.

Jaskier watched him go, a horrible, dreaded numbness spreading through him. But no. He was done with this. He exhaled heavily and marched past Vesemir, and the table, and the knocked-over chair, and perfunctorily made himself a plate and sat down to eat. Vesemir did as well, righting the turned-over chair, eyeing Jaskier all the while.

“Still might change my mind about that portal,” Jaskier said between bites, staring ahead at nothing.

“He’ll get over it.”

“Why do you keep saying that? Hm?” Jaskier asked, his voice high and tight. His fork clattered loudly on the table as he let it fall and pushed his plate away. “You’re the one who had me convinced this was worth it. Well I see now you meant worth it for you to keep fucking me maybe but not necessarily worth it for me to lose my best friend.”

“I know Geralt. What happened just now was not all about me. ”

“Good! I’m so glad! Everyone seems to know him so well! I’m fucking done, Vesemir. Summon the witch and get me the fuck out of here. He was obviously angry enough to actually _come at me_. I shouldn’t stay.”

Vesemir sighed and looked at Jaskier with a combination of stern authority and concern. “I’ll do whatever you feel must be done. I made a promise. However, you also promised last night to accept my care so I’m asking you to listen to me before you leave. Are you going to listen?”

“Fine then, go ahead,” Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the table, feeling and looking petulant.

Vesemir was unsure what he should say, and what he shouldn’t, as if there were rules that could reasonably be applied to this shit show. Once the older Witcher had realized Geralt had feelings _and_ plans for the bard (and only because he’d informed Vesemir about it the previous winter through a series of not-so-cryptic short conversations), he had begun to realize the disaster they were heading for. The musician, on the other hand - it had taken the Witcher more than a summer’s season to realize what the boy felt about Geralt was more real than he’d seen in a few lifetimes, so much so that the man was dedicating his _life_ to improving the reputation of not just all Witchers, but specifically his Geralt’s.

By then they had developed an association. It both included and excluded the idea of Geralt, as the bard trusted the older man to indulge his fantasies while he indulged Vesemir’s. It wasn’t reliant on the white haired Witcher’s participation, merely the concept of him. And perhaps Vesemir had taken advantage of that, and he should have better anticipated the consequences.

“Well?” Jaskier pressed tiredly.

“Think of Geralt’s anger as ten stones.”

“What?” the bard’s exasperation was clear.

“Imagine ten stones placed before you. They represent Geralt’s anger. Are you with me?”

Jaskier looked at him like he was mad, but then sighed and waved his hand. “Fine. Ten stones before me.”

“Let’s say… four of those stones are his anger for being left in the dark. That includes the anger you assume is for some sacred violation of me being the one who raised Geralt. Then add one for it being Lambert that broke the news.”

Jaskier pictured the stones before him and nodded. That made sense.

“There are five more stones. What are they for?”

Jaskier continued to look ahead at the imaginary stones, opening his mouth to answer, then realizing he had none.

Eventually, he said, “That’s assuming you’re right, Vesemir.”

“Then let’s _assume_ , boy, so we can complete the exercise,” the Witcher growled, and though Jaskier knew it was purely out of annoyance towards his behavior, his own body’s response disregarded that.

“Five stones unaccounted for,” he continued. “What else is Geralt angry at? The world? Lambert? No he’s already got one stone. Eskel? Eskel deserves a stone at least-”

“Eskel lacks grace. But he apologized and he _was_ looking after me _and_ Geralt, in his own idiot way. As if I need these brats poking their noses where they don’t belong,” he muttered more to himself and shook his head.

“Fine. None of Geralt’s anger stones for Eskel, but he can still have one of mine for essentially calling me a Witcher slut. What then? Five whole stones of anger. It can’t be for me, since that would be wrapped up in the first five stones. What, Vesemir? If this explains everything just say it.”

“Geralt has never brought anyone to the keep.”

Jaskier cocked his head and blinked. “And?”

Vesemir groaned, and tried another approach.

“Triss and Geralt are friends, bard. Friends that fuck occasionally - you’re familiar with the concept. Triss wasn’t supposed to be here. You are the _very_ first person he’s brought to Kaer Morhen.”

The bard was still looking at him expectantly, nodding his head in agreement at what Vesemir was saying, but obviously not _getting_ it.

The old Witcher swiped a hand through his stubble and looked to the ceiling, searching the very depths of his soul, and the rafters, for the patience this required. He didn’t hide his annoyance when he sighed and said, “I’ve got a pissed off Witcher waiting for me so _think_. Tell me again what happened the final morning on your journey here. About waking from the _dream_ , boy.”

Jaskier looked resentful for a moment for having the embarrassing moment dragged up.

“What does that have to do with…” he tapered off, and the longer he was silent before he replied, the more hope Vesemir had that he was finally getting through. “He- well… I was very distracted. But it was strange, for him. Not what I expected. It almost felt like I was being _teased_ , of all things. If it were someone else I might’ve assumed they were flirting, but this is _Geralt_. He would never… not with…”

Jaskier’s eyes became unfocused as his voice trailed off.

“Oh. So just then, you mean he- NO!” he bellowed abruptly, eyes going round and both hands coming down on the table with a bang, followed by a dramatic gasp. “Yesterday he left me on the steps like I was nothing! NO!” he seemed to argue with himself. He rose from his seat only to have his legs give out. He sat back down with a thud and looked at Vesemir in confused horror.

“Get with Eskel for your chore assignment and have him show you the springs. We’ll be back by dinner,” Vesemir informed him, as if he had not just turned Jaskier’s world upside down.

“Yes, um… yes… sir...”

With a small curl to the corner of his mouth the bard couldn’t see, Vesemir left.

***

“Lambert, dear, was it _absolutely_ necessary to break it to him that way?” Triss gently scolded the Witcher.

Lambert rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. He liked Triss and didn’t like disappointing her, but he wasn’t going to admit to any wrongdoing.

“How do you know about all this anyway?” She pressed them both.

Lambert’s chuckle was smug. “Popped down to Skellige this last summer to meet Pops for a contract, didn't I? Showed up a little earlier than he expected, if you catch my drift. The bard never saw me, but _I_ saw _them_.”

“Must be something about him that messes with a Witcher’s brain. Half expected him to be a succubus when I checked him out at the cabin,” Eskel muttered. Lambert snorted in what sounded like agreement.

“What do you mean?” Triss asked.

“Pops ain’t never been caught with his pants down that _I_ know of. How about you Eskel?”

“No. And I can’t explain how the best Witcher on the Continent didn’t smell a dirty handkerchief for an entire two months on the road, other than that the bard makes him stupid.”

Triss frowned admonishingly. “Distracted, more like. Love does things to us that can’t be explained.”

Eskel and Lambert looked at each other for the space of a second then both laughed.

“Oh come now. You’re not going to tell me Geralt doesn’t love him.”

“Sure, sure,” Lambert said, running a hand thoughtfully through his beard. “That’s obvious. How he’s still qualifying for the title of best Witcher on the Continent is far fucking beyond me, since fallin’ in love ain’t exactly what Witchers _do_. It was kind of tortured out of us. But trust Geralt to be so deranged he managed it. But Pops ain't for that shit.”

Eskel nodded. “But I won’t deny his commitment to a sexual affair for more than one encounter, and with someone who is so very close to his favorite, is not his usual style. Not that I’m keeping close tabs, but-”

“Oh quite the contrary,” Triss had to interrupt, playfulness in her melodic voice. “The two of you certainly have not been tracking his movements, interrogating his lover, or watching gleefully from the shadows as all this unfolds. No, you two are as uninvested in this as anyone could be.”

Lambert opened his mouth to retort, then found he had nothing to say, so he shrugged. Eskel looked properly abashed. Triss figured if a Witcher _could_ blush, he’d be doing so.

“Well, this is a bit troubling. I’ve heard of Jaskier’s reputation with men and women alike. Geralt clearly told me that he was here to… well, _fuck the bard_ , were his words. So either he was going to attempt to make an honest man out of Jaskier, or he doesn’t mind sharing. Knowing Geralt as I do, I’m inclined to think it was the latter. But I suppose he would feel differently with it being Vesemir…”

“It was a carriage wreck from the moment they showed up. The bard was jealous of you.”

Triss gently gasped. “Oh no. I practically threw myself on Geralt when they arrived. I’d heard so much about the _famous bard, Jaskier_ , and I’ll admit, I thought he seemed a bit… flat, for all he’s been described as flamboyant and outrageous. I thought perhaps he was tired from the journey but now I wonder… Oh this is very badly done, gentlemen.”

She sat back in her chair with a heavy sigh.

***

Geralt had managed to put himself in a meditative state while waiting outside the gates of the keep.

Vesemir’s approach broke his calm, but the only betrayal was a small twitch of his cheek as his jaws ground together. The anger and humiliation came flooding back in, but he said nothing as he waited for Vesemir to take his usual lead.

“Eskel spotted wild boar a league west of here four days ago.”

“Hmm.”

Other than the occasional hand signal, these were the only words to pass between them until the actual hunt had been completed.

After culling a few of the beasts and stringing them up to haul, Vesemir said, “Let’s get back. I promised your bard we’d be back for dinner.”

Geralt didn’t try to stop the sneer that passed over his face.

“Of course,” the older Witcher said, “he may not be your bard anymore. I’m to ‘summon the witch and get him the fuck out of here’.”

Geralt’s yellow eyes snapped to Vesemir.

The older Witcher snorted to himself in disgust. His best and brightest was faltering before him; emotions not revealed since before the Trials passed over his countenance like water over rocks.

“He… shouldn’t have to leave.”

“I told him if you took it like a fucking _brat_ I would protect and maintain his welcome at the keep.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Vesemir?” Geralt finally demanded.

“I _did_ tell you.”

Geralt growled in frustration and stepped toward his mentor. “You could have told me when I first spoke of him. Or when I told you I was bringing him here last winter.”

“Yes. I didn’t _want_ to. What happens between me and a bard you yourself aren’t fucking has nothing to do with you.”

The younger man snarled, “I brought him here to make him mine and you damn well know it-”

“Well done on _that_ , boy,” Vesemir sneered. “Kaer Morhen isn’t known for it’s courses on _charm_ but I’d thought I’d taught you the basics. I’m starting to think less of Triss for letting you slip between _her_ legs. ”

“It was a fucking mistake, alright?” Geralt roared, coming perilously close to Vesemir, either Witcher’s fists suddenly clutching armor or grabbing leather. “I was distracted! Now tell me about you! Were you waiting for the first chance you got to take him from me?”

Vesemir cast Aard and sent Geralt flying into the nearest tree with a loud crack. A shower of snow falling from the surrounding trees followed, causing several animals to fly, or run, off in a chorus of squawks and grunts.

The younger Witcher sat at the base of the tree with his head bowed, breathing heavily, as everything settled and quieted again after the row.

“Pay attention,” Vesemir instructed cooly, as though they were back in the library in the west tower and Geralt was still a boy. “The bard has _needs_. Don’t do this if you wont give him _what_ he needs. He’s human. He was exhausted with stress by the time you dragged him in. You didn’t see this, failed to help him, then ran off with a woman. Tell me Geralt, did you remember your plan _before_ you fucked her?”

The words needled into Geralt’s chest as well as any knife. “I remembered. I didn’t touch her. We talked, she asked me about him, I remembered and came down and he was gone.”

The Witcher thought he’d done wisely by forcing them along. Now he was wondering if there wasn’t some measure of his own impatience behind it. The desire to get there before Jaskier changed his mind and found an excuse to turn back. Ignoring all the signs of his reluctance and distress if there wasn’t an obvious answer the Witcher himself had supplied.

“He seems used to traveling that way.” Vesemir let the statement hang there for a moment before he strode towards his former pupil and offered him a hand up. Geralt took it, grasping his forearm and pausing tensely for a moment when the older man pulled him up then put his other hand on his shoulder firmly and looked him in the eye. Vesemir narrowed his gaze and then let him go, turning to gather his portion of their haul.

“Which brings me to the next point - he’s a performer. Aside from the singing and playing and peacocking-” Geralt rolled his eyes.

“ _Cuckolding_ , more like-”

“I meant both. Don’t interrupt me, boy. Nobility, Oxenfurt. He’s been trained by those rich asseholes to hide from everyone.”

“Jaskier doesn’t hide-”

“In plain sight,” Vesemir corrected, his tone thick with impatience. “His connection to me isn’t the only thing he’s hiding.”

Geralt took a moment to consider that.

“He’s… not human. I knew _something_ wasn’t-”

The Witcher was startled by a sound he’d not heard in many years. Vesemir was laughing.

“Idiot,” he finally grumbled when he stopped. “No. But mind him in enchanted forests. The fae would be pleased to have him.”

Geralt exhaled in relief.

***

Jaskier had opted to see to his portion of the chores before receiving a further tour. He was burning with excess energy and needed a way to take the edge off before he went to take things in.

Thankfully, or not so thankfully, really, depending on how one looked at it, he’d been assigned laundry. Unsurprisingly, there was all their _own_ laundry to be caught up on and mended from the journey, with at least a day’s worth of everyone _else’s_ as well. Except Triss’, he noted. But that was to be expected of a mage. She probably magicked her soiled clothes, and took baths just for the fun of it.

The laundry quarters were beneath the keep, just north of the dungeons (or so _Eskel_ told him), in a warm, dripping cavern lit by torches hung in deeply set sconces. Yellow light bounced off yellow stone and the constant drip and bubble of water was an ambient noise, their footsteps and words the only interrupting sound.

The dark haired Witcher instructed him on how to use their cleverly constructed laundry device. There was a wheel to turn and a rope to pull, and a series of mechanisms that drew dirty water out and fresh water in. Jaskier need only do this until the water ran clear down the drain, then put everything through the mangle and bring it all up to hang dry near the oven.

He was left alone to complete his task, remarking as Eskel left with sarcasm, “Oh no, I appreciate the offer for company, really, but I prefer to be completely alone in a vast, dank, underground cavern where I could be eaten by gods-know-what or fall into a pool of acidic… acid, and dissolve so that no one would ever know what happened to me...”

The clang of an iron door signaled that the bard was truly alone, so he sighed, and took off his doublet, and rolled up sleeves of his chemise, and got to work.

He sang, _"Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger, come quell your daughter's hunger to pull on my horn as it rises in the morn..."_

The sun was high in the sky when he was finished. He ate a quick lunch in the kitchen, more stew and bread sitting out to serve oneself. The bard would prefer not to run into a certain mage, still confused and uncertain in at least that regard. He chuckled to himself miserably, knowing it was certainly more than one regard in which he found himself without an idea. As certain as he was in his desire of Geralt, his unwavering loyalty and yes, _love_ , he did not know what fidelity to the man looked like. Did not quite know if he wanted that, as he had never seriously considered Geralt returning his feelings.

The yawning chasm of uncertainty this provoked in him made a conversation seem impossible. What did Geralt want from him? Someone to fuck for convenience, until a prettier option came along? Someone who could remain neutral about being cast aside with so little thought?

Thoughts like these took the edge off of his excitement and anticipation as much as the hard work had. It was hardly for Vesemir to know that Jaskier foolishly hoped for something more between them than just sex. And he wondered if he should simply be grateful that there _was_ a foundation of friendship. He was setting himself up for heartbreak by being so greedy and wanting so much of the man.

He swallowed down the last few mouthfuls of stew and chewed his bread, anger mounting with each bite. He was not _desperate_ , or at least refused to appear so, however Geralt made him feel. The Witcher had him all wrong if he thought he could have got any further than a furious _no_ if he’d returned to Jaskier after rolling out of bed with Triss to seduce him. 

“Ready?”

Jaskier jumped and hissed angrily as he got up and whirled around to complain at Eskel _again_ for sneaking, but he stopped short when he saw Triss standing there next to the Witcher, smiling sweetly.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I could use a trip down to the springs, and it’s much nicer with company.”

Jaskier could not hide the incredulity on his face, he knew, but he made a feeble attempt at plastering a smile over it. “O-of course. Lead the way, we’ll surely be lost if you follow me.”

***

After gawking and exclaiming and, yes, composing several lines, Jaskier finally went to claim a pool. It was more of the yellow stone he’d seen from below the keep, though it didn’t seem that they’d travel nearly as far down to reach this chamber. The bottom three shelves of pools set into the stone were too hot for those without magic or mutations, so Jaskier climbed the warm, damp steps that split the stone structure down the middle until he reached the fourth shelf. He removed his boot and dipped his toe into the first pool on his right and found it perfect. He only regretted not running to his room first to grab his oils and soaps. He’d been informed that the water itself had cleansing minerals in it, but that sounded like a Witcher’s stubborn reluctance to enjoy the finer things in his opinion.

He was removing his breeches when Triss joined him. She wasn’t shy as her robe fell from her body, revealing lovely curves, glowing skin, and perky, enticing breasts. She lowered herself into the pool across from him and with a wave of her hand, a small, curious looking box appeared on the edge of the pool, filled with several vials.

He’d come to a stop, watching her shamelessly as she stripped and got in, then suddenly remembering to finish undressing himself. He lowered himself in directly across from her, as far from her as he could, if only to be respectful. One never knew with mages, despite all that this one seemed quite friendly.

The hot water was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. All he needed, was a bit of-

“Hm… A bit of chamomile and sandalwood would do you nicely, indeed.”

That’s _precisely_ what Jaskier had been _about_ to think. Then there was a movement out of the corner of his eye and he looked over to see another small box on the stone next to him, with two vials of what he assumed were sandalwood and chamomile.

“You uh, you - that is, you can read my thoughts?” he managed to get out.

“Well, you were nearly shouting that one. Unless I am spying at court, I don’t make it a habit to pry. But some thoughts come across louder than the rest,” she explained kindly. “I promise those aren’t poisoned.” She nodded to the vials.

Jaskier’s laugh was nervous and short. He reached for the vials, uncorking each and smelling them. Their fragrance was rich - of the highest quality. Otherwise normal, to his sadly-lacking-in-magical-or-mutant-ability human nose. He re-corked them and put them back and saw that Triss was busying herself with her own oils. He dipped his head under and resurfaced. Then he sat back and laid his head against the slightly cooler stone to rest.

He should chat with her as he would any other member of some court; charm her, perhaps try and seduce her. Sitting there silently only told her that Jaskier had something to sulk about, or perhaps in this case as well, something to recover from, neither pieces of information that should be openly displayed. He couldn’t summon the will to do anything about it.

After a time, he put the oils to good use, digging his fingers into give his scalp for a good rub with the chamomile, then kneading at the tightness in his shoulder muscles and neck with the sandalwood. He was hardly going to give himself a full rubdown in front of her, so he took one last dip under the water and sat there for as long as he could hold his breath, only surfacing with a gasp when the burn filled his lungs and made his head a little light.

She sat there the same as before when he surfaced, though her hair was now wet.

“I thank you, Miss Merigold, for the company and oils. I must be-”

“You are _very_ lovely, Jaskier.”

“I- oh, uh, thank you. That is-”

“I would very much enjoy having you to myself, as I’m sure many have, and many want to still. I can see why Geralt is no exception.”

Jaskier clammed up at that. He kept his face passive while he wondered whether she was teasing him to be cruel, or simply stating what she knew to be facts. Perhaps Geralt had even told her last night he wanted to fuck the bard but hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Despite the fact that she’d demonstrated all she had to do was be _present_ to bring the Witcher to heel, regardless of the words she was saying to him now.

Triss frowned. “I see this is not helping. You know, technically, despite what it looks like, _you’re_ actually the one that ran off and slept with someone else last night, Jaskier, not Geralt.”

“What I do with Vesemir is-,” Jaskier began irritably then stopped, confused. “Wait. What?”

“We spoke for a little less than an hour before he realized what he’d done and went racing back downstairs to find you. _Just_ old friends talking and catching up. I won’t lie,” Triss looked down for a moment, “I _am_ rather affectionate with Geralt because of our history. I had no idea of any of this, otherwise I would not have presumed. From what I understand, he waited outside your bedroom all night and you never returned. I’d only just seen him again when you joined us in the kitchen.”

Jaskier gaped and sat back down, missing his seat by just a bit, and slipping back under the water unexpectedly, sputtering as he righted himself.

She went on, “Truly, this is not how I-”

“No, no, please! It’s not you. It’s been at least half me, every blasted step of this journey. I… thank you, Miss Meri-”

“Please,” she interrupted with a relieved smile, “Call me Triss.”

***

By the time they entered the courtyard, Vesemir had Geralt straightened out on a few important things, and they marched solemnly into the kitchen for the older Witcher to dress their kill.

“Two hours until dinner. If you fuck this up again, I’m keeping him.”

With that, Vesemir got to work, and Geralt retreated to begin the next hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Jaskier is not inhuman. Geralt is just extraordinarily dense, and Jaskier is incredibly cagey about some things. Sorry no smut this chapter - I may have oversold this being ONLY smut. I actually read a good example of that the other day and was like, "This is not what you do at all, you fool..." But now the requisite world building and plot advancement is out of the way, stuff is gonna start to get freaky next chapter. Smut is a hell of a lot easier for me to write.
> 
> It's coming. Jaskier will be coming. Geralt will be coming. It'll be great.
> 
> Apologies if I waded into crack territory, or managed not to do the characters justice. I felt like I struggled a bit with this chapter. That accounts for the extra time it took to get the chapter out. I sincerely hope and anticipate the next one coming sooner.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is commenting, leaving kudos, or reading. It's given me so much joy. Please feel free to leave your feedback on this chapter as well!


	7. Fuck yes!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fornicatin', ya'll.

“Geralt!” Jaskier squawked, fumbling the book he’d been flipping through as the door slammed open. His Witcher came striding determinedly into the library where the bard was currently taking refuge. “You’re back sooner than I expected.”

Stopping within an arm’s length of Jaskier, Geralt looked intently at the younger man. Not just at his face, either, Jaskier noticed. Those yellow eyes examined him quite blatantly from head to toe.

Jaskier slowly bent over to pick up the book and return it to the shelf. “I suppose we have some talking to do,” he broke the quiet nervously. “Would you like to start, or shall I?”

“I’ve no right to command you in anyway, or try to intimidate your lovers,” the Witcher began without preamble. “Forgive me. I was angry.”

Jaskier blinked in surprise. He expected some type of contrition, but after ten years, it was strange to hear Geralt string so many words together, let alone a statement that indicated he had _erred_.

Loathe as he was to pick apart the semantics, he had to know. “So back then… you weren’t…” Jaskier took one step toward Geralt and stopped. “That wasn’t for me then? The, ah, _violence_?”

Geralt looked away briefly and grimaced. He shook his head and looked at Jaskier again with earnest, yellow eyes. “I might have been confused about everything else, but I knew where my fist was going to fly. It wasn’t at you.”

Jaskier’s brow rose sharply and he looked away quickly, pretending he hadn’t just made that expression. He cleared his throat, trying to seem casual and calm, though he felt anything but.

“I’ve never seen you get decked and laid out from one hit. It would have been interesting to see, though I hardly want you doing such a thing on _my_ account.”

The anguish from before was instantly replaced by confusion. After a moment, a sneer formed on the Witcher’s handsome face.

“It wouldn’t have been one hit,” he grunted defensively.

“Ah, see, I’ve heard some- well, they were distressingly short on details, you know how Witchers are - but some rather _interesting_ stories-”

“You’ve heard the stories from _him_ , and _he_ is getting _old_ -”

“Could have fooled me,” Jaskier threw back breezily, stepping toward the table to perch himself on it. He pushed a pile of books aside then crossed one leg over the other and placed his elbow on his knee, and his chin in his hand. He gazed at Geralt fondly.

“Hmm.” 

“I am sorry. For my part, that is,” Jaskier said as he looked down at Geralt’s boots, idly noting that his armor was missing but the Witcher’s presence was no less impressive for it. “Perhaps I had a right not to tell you, and I appreciate you acknowledging that. But that doesn’t really speak to what you deserve as my friend. I never meant to disrespect you.”

After a beat, Geralt chuckled and Jaskier looked up, brows furrowed and heat already blooming in his cheeks at the idea that Geralt was laughing at his earnest attempt to be vulnerable. Though that was tempered significantly at the unfettered joy of seeing Geralt _laugh_.

“Hmm,” the Witcher fell back on his old standby response again. 

“No, no, no, what was that? You have to use _words_ , Geralt.”

The grin on the white haired man’s face was so handsome it made the bard’s bones ache. Just a flash of those white teeth, eyes _soft_ with affection. Good humor did not make him speak any faster though, and he took a moment to respond. Eventually, he said, “I am no priest, Jaskier. I take no disrespect from it.”

Jaskier exhaled softly, his relief being a gentle thing in this moment filled with many exchanges.

Geralt’s smile faltered as he continued. “I… had a plan.”

The younger man waited impatiently from his seat on the table. For his part, Geralt was now obviously looking at Jaskier’s tugged open doublet and the neckline it exposed, seeming to take a mindless step towards the table, toward _Jaskier_ , before his eyes focused again and he stopped.

Jaskier’s spine was an iron rod and both of his fists now lay clenched at his sides atop the table as he watched Geralt struggle with himself. After a time the bard could take it no longer. 

“Geralt, are you trying to say that you didn’t mean to unwittingly bring me to my lover’s home to seduce me, and that you’re so _very_ sorry for being distracted by the first pair of tits you came across while attempting said seduction?”

Geralt grunted, looking mulish.

Jaskier sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, worrying his bottom lip as he wondered how to proceed. He settled for a partial truth. He wasn’t going to do the lion’s share of the work after a botched seduction, after all.

“I don’t know what you want, Geralt. I know what _I_ want. For a rather long time now.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed, and next the Witcher was crowding Jaskier’s space, boxing him in against the table and breathing the same air as him. Jaskier cursed his hitching breath and drooping eyelids as Geralt’s aroma washed over him. Thankfully absent of the usual gore, now just musk and heat and heroics and-

“I want-” Geralt’s voice was more a rumble than anything, his lips were _so_ damn close, “I want you in my bed. I don’t want to watch you walk away for someone else one more _fucking_ time. I want you to be _mine_ Jaskier-”

“What do you expect of me?” Jaskier hissed back, anger and arousal rising, his hands no longer able to hold back. He started grabbing for Geralt’s chest and clothes and one hand snaked behind the Witcher’s neck to wind itself into strands of white hair. “Do I disappear when the first opportunity for a cunt comes along?”

Despite the combative nature of his words, Jaskier yanked Geralt forward and sealed their lips together. He wrapped his legs around Geralt’s waist and slid his other arm around his torso, scrambling to yank the Witcher’s shirt from his trousers and seeking the scarred skin beneath. He rolled his hips and gasped to feel Geralt’s answering hardness - _large_ answering hardness - sliding against his own already throbbing cock. Geralt took the opportunity to thrust his tongue deep into the bard’s mouth, grumbling deeply in satisfaction as he claimed that hot, wet space and continued to rut against him.

The kiss was brutally cut short when Geralt pulled back inexplicably, rudely separating himself from Jaskier _entirely_ and panting as he stood there.

“It won’t happen again, Jaskier, I swear it,” he said, chest rising and falling heavily, though not as much as Jaskier, the bard noticed with the usual resentfulness. “Nor would I cage a songbird. When we travel together... I would care for you. Whenever you would have me.”

Vesemir had made it clear to him, finally. And though Geralt’s intent was always for more than just a casual fuck, the gap between what the Witcher wanted and what Jaskier really needed had already caused damage. He knew better, now.

Jaskier slid from the table slowly, waiting to make sure his unsteady legs were going to hold him as he stepped into Geralt’s space again. 

“Well then, Witcher, what now with your plan? Lucky for you, I’m amenable. Now we just need a course of action.”

Jaskier gazed into those golden eyes staring at him with so much naked desire, and basked in it for a moment as he waited for Geralt’s brain to start working.

“I’m going to fuck you right here, to start,” the Witcher said smugly, much to Jaskier’s shock and _arousal_. Something of it must have shown on his face, because Geralt smirked.

He blurted, “Was that a part of your original-”

“I’m improvising.”

Large hands snagged his hips and their bodies collided, and then everything was a flurry of movement. He was stripping himself while trying to touch and kiss Geralt and strip him too, and the Witcher was doing the same while also herding the bard back toward the table. The bittersweet sound of meticulously crafted clothing being ripped enthusiastically filled the air and _thank Melitele_ Jaskier had dropped his trousers successfully before they were ruined too. 

There was an awkward moment where they were stumbling out of their boots, and he saw Geralt retrieve something from his pocket while he hopped back up on the cool wood of the table. Then they were on each other again; Geralt cradling his back with one strong arm and running another eager, sword calloused hand over the bard’s furry torso. Jaskier brought their mouths together again and did what he’d been wanting to do since he first saw the back of the Witcher walking away from him into sunset - he reached around and eagerly grabbed two delicious handfuls, shamelessly squeezing and caressing while grinding his bare cock against Geralt’s naked waist.

Geralt’s reaction was to sink his teeth into Jaskier’s neck and curl a fist into the brunette locks at the base of Jaskier’s skull. He growled and tugged, and the sound of Jaskier’s gasp tumbling into a whine had the Witcher’s cock throbbing hard enough to ache. Pulling harder, Geralt tipped the bard’s head back until his throat was bared completely to him. As he began to suck and bite and lick at the new skin, he was mindful not to aggravate a fresh looking mark that was already there.

Jaskier’s hands slipped up to his shoulders to dig his nails in and claw at the flesh there, and Geralt took the bard’s fully hard and leaking cock into his tight grip and stroked rapidly.

“NNNnngh-” Jaskier’s entire body clenched with the added stimulation, and Geralt pulled away from assaulting his neck to enjoy the sight of straining thighs and a very handsome, and- well, how else could he put it - simultaneously _pretty_ cock, that seemed impressive for a man Jaskier’s size. It curved nicely in a way he was sure men and women both must enjoy. He’d had glimpses, before, but now Jaskier’s cock was hot and leaking in his grip.

Jaskier’s moans turned into an indignant noise - with his hair released he was free to look up and catch Geralt _leering_ at his handiwork. The attention was pleasing but it was likewise _embarrassing_ when so intently focused.

Geralt licked his lips in an obscene gesture as he stared and Jaskier’s cock twitched in Geralt’s hand and he tried to stop it, but it was starting before he really knew it and Geralt’s hand was speeding up while that greedy glint in the Witcher’s eye only got _sharper_ -

Jaskier buried his head in the crook of Geralt’s neck as he cried out and his body shook and twitched from his orgasm. His spend coated the Witcher’s muscled stomach and hand and arm, and immediately Jaskier was dragging his fingers through it as his arms slipped from Geralt’s shoulders. Trembling, he looked at Geralt as he brought two fingers to his mouth, licking the digits clean.

Geralt’s lips were soon chasing the flavor, and despite the thick haze of orgasm laying heavy over him, Jasker could hear the sound of a vial being uncorked. He wrenched his lips away from Geralt and turned to snatch for the vial, successfully retrieving it and awkwardly crab-walking further back onto the table and _away_ from Geralt, smiling impishly at the Witcher all the while. Nevermind that he probably looked ridiculous. He got onto his knees and waved the vial at Geralt, who was looking at him in a combination of confused irritation and fond exasperation. 

“There will be no drawn out, painstaking preparation while you pin me to this hard table, my dear Witcher. Lovely as that sounds, I haven’t the patience for it,” he proclaimed imperiously, but also breathlessly. The blue eyed man patted the table and nodded his head at Geralt. “Come along then. I want to taste your cock then go for a good, hard ride.”

Geralt’s mouth dried up and his body was moving him to the center of the table and onto his back faster than his mind could really command it. 

With a sensuality Jaskier had only hinted at while prancing around taverns and courts, he crawled over the Witcher, sliding sure hands up the inside of Geralt’s legs before settling between them and encouraging Geralt to plant his feet. 

The bard hadn’t even really touched him yet, but Geralt was sure he’d never had a lover caress him below the knee. It sent unexpected shocks of pleasure zipping straight to his cock.

Beneath Jaskier was the feast he had been coveting for the last decade. He hovered next to that glorious cock - Jaskier wanted to cross his eyes just _looking_ at it - but he stayed there and let the length bump against and caress his face, smearing streaks of precome as he let his hands just _touch_ and _map_. His fingers trailed up tense, muscular thighs, then he stroked his thumbs along hip bones and the prominent cut of Geralt’s lower abs. So much beautifully defined muscle had Jaskier swallowing excess saliva. 

The Witcher was decorated with silver-white scars throughout and coarse white hairs that tapered down the older man’s chest to his stomach enticingly. All things he had _seen_ before, of course, but never touched. As the bard continued his exploration further up, he ran his fingers along Geralt’s sides, enjoying the feel of his ribcage and chest expanding and collapsing as he breathed. 

He flicked his tongue out to lick Geralt’s leaking cock head just as his fingers brushed over Geralt’s nipples. His gaze continued up past where his hands stopped and he found the Witcher’s yellow eyes looking back at him, his head propped up by one arm thrown back behind him, and the other white knuckling the edge of the table. Jaskier winked, then put his lips over the weeping tip, swirled his tongue, and bobbed his head down to take him in more. He raked his nails down Geralt’s chest and stomach, not hard enough to draw blood but certainly enough to leave red streaks down his torso, and the noise the Witcher made at this was positively wrecked. Then Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s hips firmly, pulling off momentarily with a lewd noise to wet his lips, then returned to coax more of the man’s seed from him.

“Jaskier-”

He couldn’t help the quirk to his lips; to hear his name coming from Geralt’s mouth sounding _like that_. Even as the bard relaxed his throat, while also easing one of Geralt’s thighs to fall open so he could massage his testicles, he grinned as he forced the Witcher’s cock deeper down. It wasn’t going much further, he realized, not without a change in position and his acquiescence to lose his voice. So he pulled back up to lavish attention on the tip, whirling his tongue over the sensitive head and slit. He shuffled a little to balance himself on his knees and then swallowed down all he could while taking the rest of Geralt’s length in his hand. 

Or he tried to, settling instead for the fact that he couldn’t quite cover the entire length even if he _could_ (just barely) wrap his hand around it. Rolling the older man’s sack leisurely, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the incomparable feeling of his mouth being stuffed with Geralt’s cock. He moaned long and low, and quickly swallowed the short burst of flavor that accompanied that particular treatment. Using his spit, he slicked the rest of Geralt’s length and worked him in an imperfect but enthusiastic rhythm, continuing to bob his head and massage below.

“Fuck, Jas-” Geralt growled, follow by a thud. Jaskier pulled off, licking his lips at the trail of spit that tried to follow him. Judging by the looks of it, the back of Geralt’s head must have hit the table as a result of that last move.

He continued to stroke as he rose back to his knees. “Enjoying that, were you? I certainly was, though taking you _all_ the way down will certainly have to be a once-in-a-while treat. Can’t have you wrecking my throat regularly.”

Geralt heaved himself to his elbows and watched as Jaskier moved his knees to straddle him. The bard leaned back to grab the vial and the Witcher enjoyed the sight of Jaskier’s lithe form on display before him. His hands were moving greedily toward the bard before he knew it, hauling himself up to nestle the younger man into his lap. Long legs wrapped around his waist and they spent a moment playing keep away with the vial with Jaskier finally insisting, “If you’re going to do _something_ , Geralt, touch me, though obviously not _there_ -” 

Geralt chuckled into the kiss he sought and it deepened into something altogether richer as Jaskier writhed atop him. He imagined clever, glistening, lute calloused fingers delving deep. The older man helped himself to a handful of the bard’s right ass cheek while the other hand shot up to tweak a nipple. The Witcher leaned his forehead on the younger man’s chest and inhaled deeply.

“The way you smell…” followed by a growl to complete the thought. Then his mouth was on the other pink bud, licking and sucking and biting while his rough fingers pinched and teased the other. Their hips couldn’t find a rhythm, not with Jaskier being all at once tortured by Geralt’s hands and mouth while he opened himself up as well. Neither of them seemed to mind, though, as suddenly Jaskier’s hands were back on Geralt’s flushed chest pushing the Witcher back down. He was reluctant to go, but followed the steady pressure back down anyway and settled for splaying his hands possessively over the bard’s thighs.

Then Jaskier was rising up, dribbling oil over his cock and slicking it with a couple strokes. Then the bard grabbed the base and lined himself up and began sinking back down _far_ too fast, too fast for _anyone_ that didn’t have mutagens or magic. His knees shot up and his hands slipped up to grasp Jaskier’s waist and prevent him moving any further.

“Geralt,” Jaskier croaked, wriggling in his grasp, which helped absolutely nothing, in Geralt’s opinion. “Let go-”

“Too fast, hurt yourself-” he ground out. 

Jaskier toppled over, further jostling them and Geralt tightened his grip on those hips as certain muscles were now _clamping down_.

Running a trembling hand through his stubble and a thumb over his lip, Jaskier looked at Geralt, eyes glazed with lust and warning. “You are not even the first _Witcher_ I’ve fucked in the last twenty four hours. Give me what I want, Geralt, or end this now.”

Geralt snarled and took his hands away from those hips, tempted though he was just to slam the mouthy bard down on top of him. He was rewarded when Jaskier sat up and basically did the same thing, except on his own somehow-

“Ok ah ah ok a bit bigger then, ah oh yes please oh but _gods_ you’re big-”

Jaskier had absolutely bitten off more than he was expecting to chew, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t work with. He just needed a moment to adjust to an entirely new definition of _deep_ and _full_. He rose slowly and Geralt’s hands were back at his hips, one reaching back to knead his buttocks while the other seemed to guide and support Jaskier as he slowly became accustomed.

He admitted inwardly that the hardwood wasn’t doing his knees any favors but when Geralt’s lifted _his_ knees just a little and his fat cockhead found Jaskier’s prostate, it wasn’t long before he found himself _bouncing_ enthusiastically on that thick length as it speared him and struck true over and over again.

Looking down at Geralt’s rapturous expression for too long had him stuttering in his rhythm, and he had to rebalance himself by rocking his hips forward and back. The Witcher’s reaction was to buck - Jaskier almost lost his balance again - but after he settled, a hand wrapped around his cock and stroked him firmly from root to tip several times. The bard stuttered _again_ , moaning as he dropped his head to his chest, and he rolled his hips luxuriously to grind down. Geralt groaned and bucked _his_ hips again, this time planting his feet on the table.

Jaskier had asked for a ride, after all.

Geralt thrust up in a broken rhythm and Jaskier thrust back with little grace or leverage, while rutting forward into the tight, slick grip that still held his cock.

Suddenly the hot, slick muscles of the younger man’s passage clamped down on Geralt’s cock. Warm, wet pulses of seed slicked his hand and Jaskier was crying out. The Witcher felt his balls draw up as the smell of Jaskier’s pleasure hit him. The white-hot, shooting waves of his orgasm had him clenching his teeth hard enough to crack. He was still thrusting, gripping the flesh of softer hips than his own as his cock continued to throb and pulse and spend his seed deep inside the other man. 

Jaskier collapsed on top of him, and then there was a quiet filled only with breathing. One by one, senses slowly returned to them.

Geralt offered his shirt to mop them up, and Jaskier accepted it with a crooked grin and a kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth as the Witcher saw to them. They were both shirtless, since what _had_ been that bard’s doublet and chemise would be returning in pieces. Geralt’s own shirt now soiled, the smug Witcher still refused to bother with lacing his trousers, and carried the brown haired man in his arms back to his own chamber from there.

***

“I quite like Triss, to be clear,” Jaskier sighed as he lazily trailed his fingers through sweaty, silver chest hair. “My language was less than that of a gentleman’s-”

“It’s not like she heard you.”

“First of all, we don’t know that for fact. Nevertheless, I bear her no hostility. She seems quite lovely. After seeing her in the springs, I _know_ that to be a fact.”

Geralt rumbled deep in his chest and pulled the bard tighter to him, keeping his eyes stubbornly closed as he basked in their post sex haze.

Jaskier closed his eyes as well, and breathed deeply, rubbing his face obnoxiously into Geralt’s chest, delighting in the intimacy and teasing there was to be enjoyed even as the Witcher sighed and dug his fingers warningly into Jaskier’s ribs.

“Alright, alright, claws in, you beast. I reflex kick really hard when someone tickles me, and let’s just say that didn’t work out well for the last man who tried in bed.”

Geralt’s only response was to bury his own face into the crook of Jaskier’s neck, sniffing lovingly, if such an act could be described that way.

“Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

“What are your thoughts about Vesemir?”

The Witcher didn’t move for a moment, then raised his head and looked at Jaskier with an unfathomable expression. It seemed a tedious thing to bring up _before_ this point, when there was already so much they’d needed to discuss, and discussion not being one of Geralt’s assets. But it needed to be discussed _now_. Jaskier had no intention or desire to end his relationship with Vesemir.

“I explained this, Jaskier. I do not wish to command you or cage you-”

“Yes, and you don’t care that the man is basically your father. But how is this going to work exactly when tomorrow afternoon I finally get that promised fucking in the hot springs? The last time I had two lovers in such close proximity it involved the dorms at Oxenfurt and a lot of sneaking and lying, and neither of them were new to my bed, nor I to theirs-”

“You don’t have to lie. Vesemir and I know how to share.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at that, and Geralt snorted.

“That isn’t what I meant. You think two Witcher’s don’t know how to coordinate and stay out of each other’s way?”

Jaskier bobbed his head, almost as if he wanted to nod, but instead ended up weaving it like some strange owl. “Yyyyyyes I’m certain you do, now that you mention it. But. Um. Well. Yes. I suppose I was also wondering about, um-”

“Spit it out, Jas,” Geralt grunted as he stretched leisurely next to the bard.

Jaskier was distracted for a moment by that, becoming giddy at the mere fact that this wasn’t a fantasy in his head, and he wasn’t pathetically catching glimpses without permission. 

“Hm,” The Witcher grunted to remind him.

“Ah, yes, well I suppose I wonder if you’re so skilled at _avoiding_ one another, how do you, ah, measure up in… working… together?”

Jaskier’s voice had climbed several octaves in that one sentence. For once, the bard was struggling with his words, and it was a strange sight to behold.

Geralt smirked and sat up a bit, pulling Jaskier closer and kissing him. He rolled them until he was cradled between the bard’s legs, the kiss turning just this side of rough as he pinned the younger man’s hands over his head.

When they separated for breath, both panting and lips red, he said, “You are shameless, bard, begging for two Witchers to warm your bed. Be sure you don’t regret it.”

“Do your job properly and don't give me any cause to,” Jaskier shot back cheekily.

A loud pounding at the door that reverberated loudly through Geralt’s chambers had Jaskier tensing up like an angry cat, and he was almost out of the bed and stumbling for clothes before Geralt grabbed him by the arm, saying, “Dinner call, I forgot-”

Through the door came the muffled shout of what sounded like Lambert confirming. “DINNER’S UP.”

Jaskier breathed out his tension and flopped back on the bed. “Ready to go show our faces after we’ve obviously been enthusiastically fucking for the last two hours?” 

"You can lean on me so Triss doesn’t see you limp.”

Geralt’s eyes were closed again so he didn’t see the goose feather pillow heading right for his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope it's an improvement from the flat previous chapter. More than that, I hope it's a small piece of what folks were looking for in regards to resolving their unrequited nonsense. It's their first time together, though, and ol' Vezzy and Jas have had a decade to build a sexual report, so while THAT sex was mostly hot and nasty, this scene was meant to be passionate and a bit playful and awkward. We're building, folks, we're building. Right now I'm thinking at least five more chapters, with the emphasis being sexual encounters, so we've got time and space to create something really cool for Geralt and Jaskier.
> 
> And obviously we're not leaving Vesemir out. :D
> 
> I am DYING for your feedback, as this chapter was hard earned. Thank you all for bearing with me. I hope everyone is safe <3


	8. How would you like to...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier boldly proclaims his desires. Geralt aims to please, but suddenly feels out of his depth. Vesemir wants to be a cranky old man but Jaskier won't let him.

Jaskier found divulging things he’d previously thought he’d never get to share a bit easier after overcoming so many miscommunications and secrets. Especially over a lovely breakfast-in-bed (though they were eating at the low table, since Jaskier wouldn’t abide crumbs in the bed). All courtesy of Triss.

“Part of… part of how Vesemir and I spend our... time together revolves around my so called “unrequited desire”... for you.” He couldn’t be blithe - not yet.

Geralt’s brow rose just the barest, then he quickly narrowed his yellow eyes. Shifting Jaskier in his lap, he pulled the bard more tightly against his hips and rumbled, “How so?”

It was stupidly satisfying to the younger man - piquing Geralt’s interest, that is. He’d never had trouble seducing someone (unless you counted Geralt). His partners were always enthusiastic to bed him and praise his many attributes. But Geralt made it all so especially gratifying.

He sent Triss another silent thanks for the platter before him and popped another grape in his mouth, trying to figure out what to say next. Then he reached for another small wedge of cheese, offering it to the Witcher who obediently opened his mouth, chasing Jaskier’s fingers as he swallowed it down. Geralt’s attention and lust were a heady wine indeed, especially paired with years of the bard’s pent up desire.

“Well, Vesemir excels at providing a firm hand to my more wiley tendencies-”

The brow rose again.

“-and the man just knows how to _read_ people. I, for one, thought I was toeing a very dangerous line with being obvious. Following you around, singing your praises, washing your hair-”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher grunted. Strong hands squeezed firmly at his waist, sliding down to caress his silk clad bottom.

“Right,” Jaskier shamelessly wriggled himself to properly straddle Geralt in the surprisingly luxurious chaise. “Well, it was our third or fourth tumble and we were both several bottles down a rather nice vintage I can’t remember the name of. Vesemir has a filthy mouth, if you can imagine, deliciously filthy - I’ve yet to come across his equal. And at some point his dirty talk veered from the usual calling me a tight little slut or cocksleeve or what have you-” Jaskier tried not to lose his breath as he felt Geralt’s cock twitch to life beneath him. He wondered what parts of this Geralt was responding to. “-to taunting me about you. Telling me how much I must crave your cock if I followed you around like a shameless slut, and must wish it was you fucking me and not him. _Then_ he started painting a lovely picture of how you’d both use me-”

Geralt groaned and pulled Jaskier down into a kiss that was messy and slightly frantic. But he quickly pulled away, his yellow eyes unfocused. “Don’t stop,” he growled, then proceeded to apply his efforts to opening Jaskier’s doublet and mouthing at any skin he could find.

“It was important that I be good whore for Vesemir’s best Witcher-”

Geralt grunted and sucked Jaskier’s earlobe into his mouth.

“Aah, yes, gods above Geralt fuck- he wanted to make sure- ah AH- he wanted to make sure I was properly trained to please you oh oh oh right there and, and keep your bed. Fuck, he told me to keep myself plugged and slick for you, ready to spread my legs and warm your cock-” 

Sometime after the ringing in his ears had stopped and the spots had stopped dancing in front of his eyes, Jaskier once again lay in Geralt’s bed in a glorious post coital stupor. He languidly ran his fingertips along the Witcher’s scarred skin and mouth watering muscle.

Someday, he was going to get up the nerve to get himself off standing over Geralt while he lay like this. See his spend splash across that heavenly body… Everything in due course.

“I can feel you fantasizing about me from here, Jaskier.”

Jaskier grinned. “Well, life _is_ for the living, my dear Witcher, and that needs some planning. Thankfully you are the perfect muse. Sadly, I cannot continue lounging about like this. I’ve not completed my chore today, and… well, silly me, seems like I let sex interrupt me before I finished my little speech.”

Geralt opened his eyes, his brow scrunched in confusion, his hair a mess and still plastered to the side of his face and neck with sweat. At the sight, Jaskier’s heartbeat thumped so strongly for a few paces he felt a little light headed.

Geralt slowly sat up, and Jaskier with him. Though he was meant to be getting up, he made no move to get dressed or move very far from Geralt at all. 

“I’m meeting him in the hot springs this evening. I want you to find a way to watch us secretly.”

“You want me to spy on you?”

“Funnily enough, I happen to know that’s technically not possible outside any of the private chambers.”

Geralt didn’t respond, so Jaskier continued.

“Vesemir told me on the first day. No one may violate the sanctity of another person’s chamber in Kaer Morhen. But if you’re brazen enough to take your pleasure in a public space - say, the library, as we did, or the hot springs, or the kitchen, I do hope you’re keeping track of these locations because I have _expectations_ \- your activities are considered fair game for public viewing.”

Vesemir knew what he was doing by taking Jaskier down there. He might as well make a formal production of it.

Jaskier worried that it was all too soon to be tinkering with the dynamic between Geralt and Vesemir. Admittedly, his interest was equally divided by lust, and sexual matchmaking just because there obviously was more affection and pleasure to be shared between the two. He didn’t want to push this so far that he ended up really and truly trampling on something sacrosanct. And he wasn’t entirely sure that Geralt was interested in Vesemir so much as he was invested in pleasing Jaskier. 

Arguably, he was merely giving his Witcher a further view of his and Vesemir’s rapport. His hope, however, was that Geralt might see that there was more to this kinky play than just indulging _Jaskier’s_ previously unmet needs. 

“Hmm.”

***

Geralt took it out on Eskel and Lambert in the training yard. It wasn’t frustration, per se, except that it was. His lark had an idea. Geralt had foolishly, arrogantly - as if he were some love struck idiot - declared that he would see it done. As if it were a truth, and not a question he had no idea how to ask.

Once again he found himself angry with his tunnel vision. He’d shared women and men with Eskel and Lambert, but as far as he knew, Vesemir had never indicated any sexual interest in his wards - whether sharing someone else or a bed together. He found himself feeling… unsure. And - not for the first or last time regarding his mentor - shy. He wanted to grind that feeling into the stone, so he pretended the feeling had taken up residence in Lambert’s face and concentrated on trying to smash that infuriating grin into the ground. 

***

“Jaskier… What’s he done now?”

The bard cocked his head to the side, wondering what plans had changed. He’d been waiting to bump into Vesemir all day, and finally decided to go track him down in his office.

“Nothing. The day is passing swiftly and we had plans. Has something come up?”

Vesemir’s hand, holding a quill, froze in midair, and his eyebrow slowly rose.

“I had assumed Geralt and you were to be exclusive.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Darling _who_ have you been fucking almost every summer for the past ten years? Do you even _know_ me?”

Vesemir sighed and set the quill down, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his impressive chest. “Jaskier-”

“Besides, what happened to,” 

And at this, Jaskier pitched his voice low and put some gravel in it,

 _“We are done when one or both of us says we are done._ Or, better yet, _Friends that fuck occasionally - you’re familiar with the concept._ ”

Hands on his hips and a challenging expression on his face, Jaskier continued, “Or are you saying we’re done? Because I’m not and Geralt knows as much.”

Vesemir looked away.

“Don’t try to be noble. Planning to just step aside, were you? You really thought I’d just fall into Geralt’s arms and forget all about you. Do...do you not want me anymore now that I’m with Geralt?” Jaskier asked, trying to keep his voice steady at the thought.

“I’m no slighted damsel, bard, and neither are you,” he growled with a bit more heat than Jaskier was expecting. “Been watching this shit unfold between you two for ten years. I knew what was coming and what I needed to do.”

“Well,” Jaskier said primly, “the best I can say is that you were off the mark, just a bit. Wrong. Incorrect. I know Witchers don’t like to hear mere mortals tell them such things-”

“Geralt...” He started, then the older Witcher sighed, abandoning his writing and standing. “He really has no objections?”

“Would I lie?” After a few seconds of silence and a deadpan look from Vesemir, the bard added indignantly, “About that??”

***

“He’s- ah, he’s amazing aaaaah yes yes oh I didn’t expect him to be _bigger_ ,” Jaskier cried out that last word as Vesemir finally sheathed himself to the hilt and held the bard’s hips tightly against him. Jaskier’s heels found purchase on stone at Vesemir's back, while his arms were wrapped around the Witcher’s neck. He was nearly bent in half. “Melitele’s slick thighs I didn’t think anyone could be larger than you. Nnnnfuck it’s hard to tell when I’d never seen him erect-”

Vesemir growled and began moving Jaskier’s hips, gripping hard, definitely leaving bruises, and thrusting up to meet him. Jaskier panted heavily into Vesemir’s neck. Not only was he hot in his lungs, but in his muscles and skin as well, and once you were _that_ hot, it quickly felt suffocating. He was so _full_. He wasn’t going to last long, knowing somewhere Geralt was watching.

Vesemir was relentless as the water splashed lewdly around them. “You’re still so fucking tight, even after taking my cock on the first night, and Geralt’s last night and this morning-”

“How did you…. Oh fuck there _sir_ ,” he pleaded, his entire body was already flushing from the attention, but now his head was spinning. Suddenly Vesemir’s arms were hooked under both his knees and the Witcher was lifting him, then laying him out on cooler stone, all the while remaining inside him.

“I can smell it inside you, boy. Fresh last night at dinner.” Thrust. “Fresh today.” Another hard thrust. “There’s no way he wouldn’t take every spare fucking second to bend you over and put his giant prick in you.” His pace was a steady hammer now. His growls and grunts turned Jaskier on almost as much as the talk. That he could get this man to _do_ that was the greatest thrill.

“And were you good for him, songbird? Did you spread your legs nicely for my hardest working Witcher? Or were you a terrible, selfish brat who only thought of his own slutty pleasure?”

Jaskier shook his head back and forth, his fingernails digging into stone. “No, I sucked him off, I rode him hard, daddy, I-”

Suddenly Vesemir’s hand was gripping his cock and balls firmly. “Good. You’ll want to stay nice and loose for him. _I’ll_ help you with that.”

Jaskier was incredibly into this, incredibly turned on, but also very aware that Vesemir was holding back. This Geralt-talk was tame compared to some of the things they’d said to each other before. He intended to coax more out of him.

“Yes sir, please teach me, fuck, please make me ready for him, aah ah, grade me, give me instruction as he fucks me - make sure I’m giving him the _most_ pleasure... I want you to see how good I can make it for him. _Please_... Don’t you want to see that? See your best Witcher feeling good, being pleasured by your boy the way you want it?”

Vesemir _snarled_ and pulled out. For a wild second Jaskier thought he’d said the wrong thing, but then the world spun and he realized he’d been flipped over, only his chest remaining pinned to the floor while Vesemir mounted him again.

The older man was at his ear, a hand tightly fisted in his hair, his cock hitting his prostate so well that Jaskier knew this was going to be over soon. The bulk of the other man’s body weighing on him was so fucking incredible-

“Yesss,” Vesemir hissed. “I want to see the well deserved look of bliss as he pumps you full and gets his pleasure. I want to see you sucking his fat cock while he empties his sack right down your throat. I want to watch that stallion of a Witcher breed you until you pass out-”

Jaskier knew for certain he _was_ going to pass out. But first, Vesemir nailed his prostate firmly several more times, and that familiar burning spread through his loins, and he clamped down on the gloriously thick cock inside of him. Then Vesemir’s hand was one him again, stroking him firmly as his orgasm clawed viciously at him and he spilled, all the while his Witcher growling sinful words into his ear. Then darkness.

***

“Get me… to the....” The rest was incoherent noise.

Jaskier flopped his arm and managed to rub his cheek against the chest of coarse hair he laid against and whined pathetically.

A grunt from Vesemir and the swishing of hot water followed. Then, blessedly, was the movement of air against his skin as his limp form was hoisted and transported to the cold pool.

He had a nervous thought that Vesemir might toss him in for ordering him about.

He was right.

“Wait don’t dump ME IN-”

The eldest Witcher smirked as he watched Jaskier flail and right himself, emerging from the water sputtering and squawking. 

“More of a duck than a songbird,” he observed as he, too, got in.

“This is what I get for trusting you. I should have trusted my _gut_. Such a brute, guh,” he wiped his face and shook the water from his hair. With an incorrigible smirk, he propelled himself across the distance to plant himself right in the older man’s lap. Vesemir rolled his eyes, but curled an arm around Jaskier’s waist and tucked him in close as he laid his head back against the stone.

The bard closed his eyes to rest as well. To Jaskier, there was nothing like the burning in his muscles abating after sex, or the reassuring sound of your partner’s heartbeat thumping solidly in your ear.

He could have slept for the comfort of it, even in the water. He could trust Vesemir not to let him slip in. But it didn’t take long for the cool water to do its job, and soon enough goosebumps covered his skin and he began moving against his lover for more warmth.

Vesemir rumbled in his chest and kissed him soundly before they both got out.

Jaskier was embarrassed to admit it, but his legs couldn’t quite support him down the stone platform, his muscles having cooled and apparently turned to pudding. He’d had a brief thought before - as Vesemir had bent him nicely in half and he’d locked his ankles behind the other man’s neck - that perhaps this would be the result. Three straight days of fucking Witchers had taken it’s toll, and he laughed at himself a little hysterically as he toppled onto a bench. 

He wasn’t eighteen anymore. 

_There once was a bard who fucked so many Witchers…_ That had potential.

Vesemir gave him a once over from where he stood dressing, eyebrow raised in question. It was funny, he thought, how much eyebrows played a key role in the mostly non-verbal communication of Witchers. 

_He_ was certainly looking no worse for wear, as the Witcher swiped the remains of beaded moisture from his impressive chest.

“Ah, well… I can’t quite get my legs under me,” he said in explanation. “I think I’m going to require transport, my good Witcher. I don’t suppose you’re available for hire?”

***

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Geralt looked up from the tedious, yet soothing work of de-seeding herbs in bulk for Vesemir’s greenhouse. Eskel and Lambert were trying to work through a whole year’s supply, and it would continue to be the work of the next week to see it done. He’d only just joined them, having finished his “secret” viewing of the show in the springs and tossing himself off in a dark hallway before racing to join his brothers in their chore. He hadn’t thought much about any of it, just allowing his body to react, then rushing off to join his brothers, lest he be accused of shirking his duties. There was too much to consider in that moment. He’d always been rather good at compartmentalizing. Jaskier might say a little too good.

The others looked up as well, hearing the same quick footsteps approach from outside the apothecary.

Vesemir entered.

Geralt asked, “Where’s-” 

“My room. Come on.”

“Oi Pops! That ain’t fair! We still got hundreds of these left and this asshole just got here!” Lambert’s protest began.

Vesemir didn’t respond and Geralt easily deflected the pair of shears the youngest Witcher threw at him as he left. 

“Thought you two were in the springs,” Geralt said as he followed Vesemir.

“He’s with Triss in my bed.”

Geralt stopped short. 

“He pinched a nerve in the springs,” Vesemir clarified, his amusement clear. “Lost strength in his legs. She’s working on him.”

Geralt sighed and continued walking.

***

“There. You’re just fine now. But don’t tell them that just yet,” Triss told him with a wink. “You know what all the vials are for. Be disciplined in the stretching. You _are_ human, Jaskier. For Melitele’s sake, pace yourself.”

Jaskier grinned, and kissed and caressed her hand in thanks. “I truly cannot impress upon you how grateful I am. I owe most of my current happiness to your kind interventions, and now here you are, patching me up like this. Kaer Morhen is all the brighter for its most beautiful jewel-”

“Laid up from too much sex, and he’s still trying to seduce his healer,” Vesemir’s bemused remark interrupted the bard. Two Witchers lingered in the doorway, observing. 

“Hmm,” Geralt responded, coming to sit at the edge of the bed. “Sounds right.”

Triss smiled indulgently and gave Geralt’s knee a gentle pat. “I’ve told him to take it easy as he… builds his stamina.” At this she looked pointedly at both the Witchers, allowing for a silent pause before she sighed and moved on. Jaskier merely sat there and grinned, looking quite pleased with the attention. “He has a stretching routine to complete daily. Though, he could really benefit from a deep tissue gluteal massage…. focused on specifically the piriformis and inguinal ligament, and the groin.” She finished quickly, smiling brightly. “I’m sure one or both of you has enough expertise to handle that.”

With a very pleased grin and wink for Jaskier, Triss left.

“I was gone less than fifteen minutes Jaskier,” Geralt muttered. 

Jaskier’s eyes glittered with mirth.

“This wasn’t a part of my plan,” Vesemir interjected. “After you left, I took him to the cold pool. That was all.” The slight downturn of his mouth was enough to tell Geralt he felt remorse.

He also couldn’t believe the old man had detected him. All these years and still no one could get the drop on Vesemir.

“Your plan did not include me refusing to listen to my body in the throes of pleasure, that is true,” Jaskier insisted. “Or, rather, I was listening to it. Listening to the _horniest_ parts, I suppose. But anyway, I do believe the doctor ordered a massage.” His grin was shameless as he looked back and forth between Geralt and Vesemir eagerly.

The two Witchers couldn’t help but chuckle, and smirk, when they both suddenly heaved great sighs at the exact same moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. I really struggled for some time with an almost dysphoria-like feeling when I hit Ch. 7 on this fic. Every attempt to re-read (which is something us fly-by-the-seat authors must do in order to maintain continuity and decide future plot) left me feeling like I'd put on drunk goggles while reading it. Or that it had been written by someone who was drunk, lol. It was a very strong sensation, and left me feeling rather poorly and insecure about the whole thing. My latest re-read didn't produce the same sensation (I enjoyed reading my fic, WTF?), so I'm striking while the iron is hot.
> 
> Again, Vesemir and Jaskier have a very established sexual relationship. They have less verbal communication about kink, and what will follow (something approaching BDSM scenes, except it's more about exaggerating/fulfilling the sexual potential between Geralt and Vesemir, as well as Vesemir's role as Jaskier's "handler" or "top" or "dom" or "daddy" or whatever you wanna call it). As it was in Chapter 6, J and G have a lot of building and establishing to do, so there will be a lot more discussion and learning on their end, and between the three of them, once that happens.
> 
> I'm not an expert on These Things (TM), but I'm doing my best to demonstrate SOME responsibility in these very un-vanilla relationships.
> 
> I'm sorry it took so long! I so appreciate all the support I've received up until now. I live for the interaction and feedback and am grateful for every moment of it! <3 I've definitely abandoned fics that I've left alone for this long, but I was strongly motivated by the interaction and feedback I've received so far. Thank you thank you thank you.
> 
> With that in mind, please feel free to add me on Tumblr, username Sinisterbug. I'm really craving some Witcher community/solidarity!
> 
> Lastly, I'm trying to go for less-is-more with the daddy talk. Is it working? Also feeling a LITTLE insecure about including breeding-kink talk. I'm definitely NOT going for a horse-breeding-kink with the stallion line (no kink shaming here, just clarifying what I was going for). How did we feel about that?


End file.
